Just One Taste
by smalld1171
Summary: I felt compelled to write a little something pertaining to 6X05 and Vampirish Dean. Cuz I'm dark and a bit twisted. I hope any who read will enjoy. **Final Chapter Up**
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! Just something that was rolling around in my head and that I needed to get out. Just an added scene or two to go along with 6X05... Reviews and comments are always welcome and encouraged :) I don't own SPN but hey, we can't always get what we want I guess. Thanks for taking a looksee at this little story. :)**

He is starving. He is so thirsty. Please. He wants just one taste. Just one.

"Dean? You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He says the words but knows they are false. He wishes they would just hurry the hell up and give him the cure. Or kill him. Either one will do. His body is on fire. The thirst, it courses through him. So damn strong.

He senses them as they approach, their heartbeats play a deafening tune. He licks his lips, dying to take just one little nip from them. No, he can't give in, not now, he has almost made it. He has resisted this long, he just needs to focus. He closes his eyes to try and block out the increasing craving he feels grow within him.

They must be closer now. It, they, the beats, the blood travelling through their veins, it pounds in his ears. And he can't deny it any longer, it sounds so damn good. He wonders what the taste would be like. He feels his mouth water at the simple thought of it. Blood. Oozing from their bodies into his. Running down his throat, soothing his want. His need. His hunger. He smiles at the vision in his mind. Blood. The taste. Just one taste.

They stare at him as he sits there, eyes closed and blade in hand. They see him moisten his lips and watch his mouth curl up into a disturbing smile. They are wary of the darkness, the blood lust that must be consuming him.

"Dean?" Sam sees his head tilt but his eyes remain closed. He gently lifts the knife from his brother's grasp.

He opens his eyes and keeps his focus to the ground, careful to keep his gaze away from his brother. "Gotta hurry Sam. I'm losing. I want... I want... the urge, it is so strong. Don't know how much longer I can control it."

"Let's get outta here, we can still fix this Dean."

His breath is ragged and comes out short and fast. He sees Sam reach an arm out to him. "Best if you keep your distance...don't touch me. Your blood...I can hear it...running through you. Your heart...so strong. The sound...it's...it's...beautiful. God, the taste...I'm sure it would be...wonderful."

Dean rises to his feet and stares into Sam's eyes. Sam takes a step back. The eyes. So dark. Animalistic. He sees want and need in them. He sees instinct and loss of control. His body shudders involuntarily. Dean is right. He is losing. Fast.

His eyes fall onto the neck. He stares at it. Mesmerized by it. He can't focus on anything else, nothing else exists to him at this moment. Just the neck. The pulse. The blood. It's right there. It taunts him. It dares him. To take some. Just one taste.

They watch him. They wonder if he even realizes that he is staring, and drooling, at Sam's neck. His eyes are transfixed at the pulse point. And he just licked his lips. Again. And they know that this, this situation is not good. At all.

**TBC?... Let me know what you think and if I should bother to continue. Thanks! :)**

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**Just One Taste**


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to Chapter 2 everyone! Thanks for the comments and to all of those taking a moment to look at this story of mine, I truly appreciate it! I hope you will enjoy! :) **

Samuel is thankful that they came prepared. Blades. Guns. And, the only thing likely to work in this particular situation, Dead Man's blood. He watches his grandson. Closely. He can see that Dean's gaze is unflinching. Unwavering. Deliberate and focused. On Sam. On his neck. On his blood. His stare is so intent on Sam that he thinks there is a chance that he will be able to maneuver behind him. He snakes his hand into his pocket and finds the needle. He hoped that it would not be needed but the look in Dean's eyes tells him different. He no longer feels he can be reasoned with. Feels that he can no longer be reached. His thirst, his hunger is the only thing that drives him now.

Sam freezes before the stare of the cold hard eyes ahead of him. He does not move, not one inch. He bides his time. He does not want to provoke the monster, the one that wears Dean's face, into an attack. He sees Samuel from the corner of his eye. Sees the needle he grips tight in his hand. Sees him move, slowly, delicately, towards Dean. Sam needs to do what he can to keep his brother's face directed at him. It shouldn't be difficult, he knows he is looking to Dean like the proverbial pork chop to the hungry dog in an old Looney Tunes cartoon. Sam swallows, and swallows again. He notices his action has brought an eerie smile to his brother's lips. God, Dean is actually salivating at the sight. Sam knows it will only be a matter of time, and not much, before Dean makes his move. Until he completely succumbs to the hunger within.

He can't tear his eyes away. The movement of the neck. The throbbing pulse. It is drawing him closer to the edge, he wants to give in to the temptation. He doesn't care that it is Sam. His brother is not the same one he fought heaven and hell with. He is changed, altered, and Dean figures if he can change into someone completely different then maybe it's time for him to do the same. He hesitates when he hears a voice in his head. His voice. It tells him to stop. Tells him not to give in. Tells him he is not a monster. Tells him not to turn into one of the creatures he has hunted his entire life. He smirks at that. He is a monster, always has been. In life, in hell, and now. He shakes his head, he doesn't want to hear it. He doesn't care about anything else right now. He knows what he wants. Sam. Or rather, Sam's blood. To tame the wild thirst that wells inside him.

"Sammy, you gotta help me. Please. I won't hurt you. You know I would never hurt you Sam."

Dean takes a step towards him and Sam counters with a backwards step of his own. "Sorry Dean but I don't think I believe you right now. I think you need to come with us and we can get the cure into you. You are definitely not good right now. Just... Just come with us and we can help you."

He almost forgot. We. Sam and Samuel. He looks to the right, to the last place he saw the old guy and sees that he is no longer there. Huh, they are tricky bastards. He stops and listens. And hears the footsteps behind him. He smiles and turns at lightning fast speed, grabbing the arm that holds the needle. That holds the Dead Man's blood. "Hey Gramps, what gives? You know it's not polite to sneak up on your own grandson like that. We're family aren't we?" He squeezes hard on the wrist and smiles when Samuel lets out a groan and drops the needle to the floor. He kicks the syringe out of reach and stares into the other man's eyes. "There, that's a good boy. If I didn't no better I would say you were gonna jab me in the back with that. And, the more I think about it the more unsure I am about whether I want to be saved. Maybe this whole thing isn't as bad as we made it out to be after all. Maybe this is what I am meant to be."

Dean slams Samuel harshly up against the wall. He loves the way the fear dances across his face as his teeth descend and as his mouth hovers above his neck. He hears his heartbeat, that moments ago thumped at a steady rhythm, begin a fluctuating climb. Faster and faster it goes. Blood pumping and pumping through his veins. Dean grins wildly and bathes in the power he has over this man. He feels euphoric at the rush that fills his entire body. Dean reasons that this kind of feeling just can't be bad.

Sam watches the scene unfold and needs to do something, and quick, to divert Dean's attention away. He takes in a deep breath and bellows towards the pair of men. "Why don't you pick on someone your own size? Or, cuz that might be difficult for someone of your stature, why not pick on someone your own age at least? Or do you get your kicks from beating up an old man whose reflexes are slow and unsteady?"

Dean doesn't speak but Sam can see his posture change. His shoulders hunch and his head tilts to one side, like he is waiting for more. Sam sees his grandfather and can see the wave of relief that washes over him as he hears the distinctive sound of Dean's new set of chompers retract. Sam knows he has his attention and that he just needs to up the ante a bit more to get Samuel out of harms way. Sam walks up behind Dean and can see he still has Samuel in a vice grip, preventing him from just attacking him from behind. Sam decides to keep going, he needs to break his focus off of their grandfather and onto him. He is just inches away from Dean's back. He leans in and his voice turns into a whisper in his brother's ear.

"You know it is my blood you want Dean. Young. Strong. Vital. So I dare you. Come and take it. Show me how tough you are."

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everyone and thanks for the comments and views of this story. I appreciate all who take the time to read. I am still not entirely sure what shape this story is going to take, I just write down what comes to me. I hope you will enjoy. Until next time! :)**

Sam backs up and waits. Waits to see if Dean takes the bait. And the bait is him. Sam doesn't feel scared, there is no fear. He rationalizes this whole scene, he tells himself that he can not allow Samuel to die. Not because he is his grandfather, not because he is blood. Those aren't the reasons. He can not allow him to die because he knows so much. About hunting. About the alphas. And Sam needs him around to hunt the alphas down. Samuel is an important piece in the puzzle. At least for now. And Dean? Well, he has his own part to play. He has seen the vampire world from the inside and Sam is itching to find out what it is he saw. What he sees. He needs to know. So, it won't do him any good for either Samuel or Dean to die tonight.

So he waits. Waits for the reaction to work its way through his brother's fevered mind. Sam knows him. Knows he won't be able to resist. Even if his mind is wavering from the Dean of the previous day, Sam still knows he won't be able to resist the carrot he just dangled in front of him. The challenge. Dean won't. He can't say no to a challenge. Especially when it comes from Sam.

Dean feels the hairs stand up on his neck. He sniffs the air. He can smell him. Sam. He can hear him. His heart. His blood. And Sam just taunted him. Challenged him. He closes his eyes for a brief moment. He knows his brother is right. It is him he wants. His blood. His strength. His vitality. His mouth turns into a feral grin and his hunger goes into overdrive. The scales have just been tipped. He no longer hears anything from that irritating, nagging voice inside him. It's gone. That Dean. The weak, emotionally scarred loser Dean. Gone. Good riddance. Only the new, improved vampire Dean inhabits his body and mind now. He loves each and every single sensation that flows, that courses through his body. He chuckles as he compares himself to Steve Austin. Better than he was before. Better. Stronger. Faster. He looks to gramps again. He decides that he just isn't worth the effort. At least not right now. Why nibble on the old, withered appetizer when the young and fresh main course has just opened up an invitation to be snacked on first?

Sam thinks he can hear it. Thinks he can see it. The actual moment when the light that has defined his brother is extinguished. When that Dean ceases to exist and another version emerges from the smoldering ashes. But Sam isn't scared, there is no fear. He looks to his grandfather and wills him to look over at him. He just needs a diversion.

Samuel sees nothing but darkness and blood lust in Dean's once vibrant and alive eyes. They have lost their sparkle, their humanity. He looks over to where Sam is and sees him nod to where the syringe still lays on the floor. Samuel needs to try and get Dean's attention. Because as strong as Sam is, he knows he will be no match for a vampire. For Dean. Without the dead man's blood they won't make it out of here alive. "Dean, you do not want to do this son. Please stop. Think about what you are doing. You killed this whole damn nest to get to the cure. You are so close. Don't let the hunger win." He thinks he sees a glimmer of his grandson displayed on his features for a split second but then it is gone. "You are infected. Sam and me? We can fix you. Please son, let us help you."

Sam hears Samuel's voice and slowly inches his way to where the needle lays on the floor. He keeps one eye on the prize, the other on the two men. He just needs a couple more seconds to get it, to strike at Dean and get this mess over with. He gets closer and closer but as he hears Dean speak he knows he has run out of time.

Dean snarls at Samuel, his voice comes out low and husky. "You talk to much. Why don't you sit this one out old man. Let the youngins have some fun and play." He strikes his grandfather across the face and watches him fall in a heap. "That's right, you just relax. I'll come back and see you later."

Sam freezes as Dean turns to face him. He is startled at the speed in which Dean suddenly stands right in front of him. "Where you going bro? Trying to run away? I thought you wanted a piece of me? Right Sammy?" Pause "Isn't that a coincidence, cuz I know that I definitely want a piece of you. Just one Sam. All I need. All I want. Just one taste."

**TBC...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hello again everyone. I hope you enjoy the next chapter of this tale. Feel free to drop me a line and let me know what you think. Enjoy. :)**

_Previously..._

_Sam freezes as Dean turns to face him. He is startled at the speed in which Dean suddenly stands right in front of him. "Where you going bro? Trying to run away? I thought you wanted a piece of me? Right Sammy?" Pause "Isn't that a coincidence, cuz I know that I definitely want a piece of you. Just one Sam. All I need. All I want. Just one taste."_

It is now his turn as he is viciously slammed up against the wall. His ears and head ring from the impact as the wind is knocked out of him. He admits to himself that perhaps he was a bit premature in his thoughts that he could take control of this situation. Even though his strength is ten fold what it was before his trip down under, the iron grip that now holds him up against the wall makes it feel like he has no strength at all. As he sees and hears the jagged teeth come into view, as they escape the confines of his brother's mouth, he knows he needs to break through in some way to him. And fast.

"If you do this Dean there is no going back. You will become what you hate. What you have hunted your whole life. You will turn from hunter to hunted. You will be chased. You will be found. You will be killed. If not by me, by the hand of someone else." Sam sees a moment of hesitation within Dean. He decides to use it. It's time to strike into the very heart of him. Of what his entire life has been, has meant. Him. Sam.

"After all that we have been through, all the sacrifices we have made for each other, for the world, don't let it end like this. Not like this. You are stronger than this, the strongest person I know. You need to fight it. You can win." It's almost too easy. To play on his weakness. Dean, he just has so many to choose from. It's pathetic. But, Sam is in self-preservation mode so the lies continue to roll off his tongue, being the brother Dean needs him to be. The one he longs for him to be. "Come back to me bro. Don't let this be our last moment together. We just found each other again, we need the chance to be brothers again." Sam hopes his lies are getting through. He hopes Dean can't see right through them, that he can't tell that he really doesn't care about him. At all.

His head pounds. His eyes water and he feels the coldness of the floor seep into him. He blinks to clear out the fog and takes a moment to figure out just what the hell has happened. The light bulb. It goes on in an instant and Samuel's eyes quickly scan the room. He finds Sam and sees he is now in a similar position to what the older man had been in just minutes ago. He hears Sam speak to Dean and takes the chance to work on a plan. His eyes drift to the floor, to the syringe, to their only chance. He moves, almost slithers across the floor to get to it.

Dean smiles at his brother. He can't believe how stupid Sam thinks he is. He thinks he can start with the sappy brother routine? Now? He has been different since he got back. Sam obviously doesn't want to be a part of Dean's life. Hell, he left him suffer alone, in despair, for an entire year. He is just trying to save his own skin. Dean can't resist it. Sure, he'll play along, it'll be fun.

He looks into his brother's eyes and puts his acting skills to the test. He loosens his grip just a fraction and allows his teeth to retract. He pours it on, complete with the puppy dog eyes that he learned watching the master, the man before him. "Sammy? Oh God Sammy. What? I... What's going on? Are you okay? I didn't hurt you did I? I'm... I think I'm going crazy. I'm just so lost. Please Sammy. Help me... help me."

"You're okay Dean, and so am I. We will fix this together. Let's just get out of here, get you the cure and get us back to normal." Sam feels pleased with himself. He knows Dean so well, knows what he fears, what he loves. It's just so damn easy to get him to fold. He notices Samuel approach, needle in hand. He needs to keep his brother talking, keep his thoughts on him. But he finds he doesn't have to. It is Dean who speaks next.

"Yeah.. I want us to be close again Sammy. Closer than ever. I want us to be able to share things again. Our lives. Even more than before." He can't wait any longer. He can't play the game. He knows what he wants and it is right there in front of him. His grip tightens and he careens Sam into the wall again, and grins fiercely at him as he tries to catch his breath. He hears the darkness in his voice, the hate, the want and the need. And it just drives him further into madness. He leans in close to his brother, taking his chance to be the one to whisper. "Aw, what's a matter Sam? Did I catch you by surprise? Did you think I didn't know what you were doing? Did you expect me to believe that you give one shit about me? I can see right through you dude, and I don't need anything from you. Well. Huh." He bears his teeth once more and hisses into his brother's ear. "Well, maybe just a few drops of your blood. That's the one thing I need from you. And I am going to take it. And there is not one thing you can do about it... baby brother." He looks into Sam's eyes and sees them widen. "Any last words Sammy? Or, wait, I know. Maybe I won't kill ya. Maybe you and I can be a team again. Maybe I'll just turn you instead. You will love it. The feel of it. The sense of power, the high."

Samuel is right there, just a few strides behind his grandson. He really thought Sam had gotten through to his brother. Had reasoned him out of his fury. But all bets are now off. Dean is intent on feeding. And not just on a stranger. No. On his own blood. On Sam.

Dean turns Sam's head forcefully to the side, the smell, the pumping of the blood driving him closer to the edge. He can't concentrate on anything else. Just the blood. The taste. Finally, he is going to quench his thirst. And it'll be an added bonus when he shuts his stupid brother up.

Samuel sees Dean lean in, mouth wide, teeth ready. Time is up. He lunges, syringe in hand, just as Dean's mouth descends towards Sam's very exposed and pulsing carotid artery.

**TBC...**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi everyone! Here is another chapter, I hope you will enjoy. Thanks for reading and feel free to drop me a line to let me know what you think if you are so inclined. Thanks again! :)**

"Dean. Please. Stop. You don't want to do this." Sam struggles to get free but he can't move. His brother has him immobilized against the wall. The more he squirms the tighter Dean's hold becomes. He can not do anything. He can not move his head. He can not get his neck out of Dean's reach. His brother has complete control of the situation. And Sam? He has no control at all.

Dean loves the desperation in Sam's voice. "Beeeep.. Sorry Sammy. Thanks for playing but you are wrong. This? This is the only thing that I am sure of. I do want this. More than you know. So, no more talking. No more stalling. It's time to bond. It's time to share. And best of all, it is time to taste." His eyes narrow in on the prize, the pumping of the blood echoes in his ears, in his mind, in his entire body. He is numb to anything else. He thinks maybe Sam is still talking but he can't hear the words. And he doesn't want to. He just wants his blood. It's like he is high, floating above, encased in a world of ecstasy, of raw, unflinching desire. For just one thing. He smiles, slides his tongue along the rim of his new and pretty fantastically awesome set of teeth, and lowers his head ever closer to Sam's neck. His voice is husky and full of want. "Relax. I just want one little itsy bitsy taste Sam."

Sam knows now there is no reaching him. No convincing him to stop. No way to stop what is about to happen. He can't believe it has come to this. To this moment. And he can't believe that all the events unfolding right now were caused by his own lack of action in that back alley. He made this into the situation it is. He is responsible for Dean. For turning him into a monster. Sam closes his eyes and tries to ready himself for the pain he knows is just seconds away.

Samuel lunges and stabs his grandson in the leg. As his thumb begins to press down on the plunger he hears a low growl followed by a backhand of such force and raw power that he feels himself actually leave the ground and end up far from where he started. He swallows hard and hopes that the blood has found its mark. That he managed to get enough of the poison into his grandson, that there is enough flowing through Dean's veins to stop him. To give Samuel and Sam a chance to save him. And he hopes there is enough time for the dead man's blood to work, before he is face to face with a very pissed off version of Dean. Until he is face to face with the vampire within, the vampire that Dean has now surrendered himself to.

Sam hears a hiss, and then a growl, and finds himself instantly freed of his brother's steel grip. The pressure that held him in place is gone. The feel of Dean's breath on his neck. Gone. When he looks up to see the reason for this sudden stroke of luck he can tell by his body language and posture that Dean is mighty pissed off. His strides are forceful and deliberate. Sam can almost feel the hatred radiate from his brother's back. And that hatred is directed entirely at their grandfather.

His hopes fade in an instant as he stares in horror at Dean. He can hardly recognize him. His eyes. His teeth. Samuel shudders when he sees them. They are no longer human. And now Dean looks to be on a mission. The look he sees tells Samuel that he is now the subject of Dean's intense and utter rage. Samuel is lost. He has nothing left to fight with, no words left to say. He is going to die. His own grandson is going to kill him. And then it will be done. There will be no going back. No undoing the damage. Because once Dean has done the deed, his transformation will be complete.

**TBC...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hello again all... here is the latest installment of this little tale. I hope you enjoy it. Feel free to leave a comment to let me know what you think. Thanks again to all who are following along and to those leaving feedback, I do appreciate it muchly! :)**

Okay Gramps, you have just stabbed me and pissed me off for the very last time. No more second chances dude, you are so gonna die. The words bounce around in Dean's brain and he actually feels pretty excited at the thought of ending his grandfather's life. He shouldn't be around anyways, he died years ago, he saw him die. He was brought back for something but it is just not right that he is back among the living. And, now that he thinks about it, Sam shouldn't be walking around either. Really, how DOES one escape the cage? It isn't right. It isn't normal. It should not of happened and now Dean has the chance to put the two wrongs that occupy the room with him back into the right.

He moves towards Samuel, only the thought of his death on his mind, when he is stopped suddenly by some kind of cramp in his leg. The leg that his stupid grandpa decided to use as a pin cushion. Shit. No. Dean will not let it happen. He is so damn close to the satisfaction that only blood will provide. He wills his body to move, continues to close in on his target, and feels only slightly hindered by the discomfort emanating from his appendage. But damn it. Now his stupid leg decides to give out and it forces Dean to his knees. But he doesn't stop. He may be slowed down but he can still move, it is not beneath him to start to crawl along the floor. He needs blood and a little boo-boo in his leg isn't going to make him halt. His movements become slower and slower but it is the pure determination within him, his need to get to the blood supply, that shields him somewhat from the pain that starts to flow. He can deal with it, it isn't too bad, he has survived far worse that than this little inconvenience in his lifetime. If he can just get to the blood he will be rejuvenated, renewed and ready for action.

Dean stops for a moment and shuts his eyes. He knows that Samuel didn't get much of the blood into him so he just needs to ride it out. He will be fine. Dean Winchester is always fine. He repeats a steady mantra inside his head. Just keep going. Get to the blood. Don't stop now. Just keep going. Get to the blood. He is so close, he just needs to get to the old man. He opens his eyes and looks to Samuel, who seems to be frozen to the spot. Gramps has not moved one inch and Dean finds that very, very odd. But, he doesn't dwell on it for too long. He figures that Samuel has finally accepted the fate that awaits him and so Dean continues his crawl towards him. And then he sees it. Samuel. From his position on the floor. Samuel is smiling. And Dean knows that can absolutely not be a good thing.

Sam watches Dean's progression and knows, because he knows his brother, that his level of pain has increased. Sam knows now is the time to strike, while Dean is weakened. He knows he has a chance to finally stop this bizarre chain of events. While Dean remains focused on getting to their grandfather, and while he continues to deal with pockets of pain as they explode within him, Sam reaches the dead man's blood. He comes up behind his brother and quickly injects the rest of it into his shoulder as Dean moves along the floor.

Damn it Sam. I hate you. Dean stops on the spot as an intense wave of pain courses through his entire body. He tries to breathe through the ever increasing pulse of agony that threatens to overtake him and then he sees it. Samuel. The old bastard slowly rises from the floor and stands right in front of him. The motivation that Dean had just moments ago to continue his assault on his grandfather has now taken a back set to the constant flux of pain that radiates through him. He stays on all fours. He can't move. He can't focus. He can't function. He feels desperation enter and he knows the poison is wreaking havoc on his body. Shit.

"Okay Dean. Just take it easy. The pain will ease in a little while. You will feel better very soon." Pause "Sam, let's get him out of here quick, we don't know how long we have until the poison runs it's course."

And with that Dean feels himself being hoisted up by two sets of arms and he curses both of the men. He wants to fight. He wants to lash out, break some bones, bite some skin, but his movements come out sluggish and pathetically weak. C'mon body, hurry up. Fight this.

**TBC...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Howdy to all ! Next chapter up! As always, I hope you find even a little enjoyment in it. :) Don't be afraid to review, I won't BITE you! tee-hee! :)**

Sam and Samuel don't speak but they don't have to. They seems to be able to communicate through looks alone. Sam glances at his grandfather and sees him motion to the decapitated body that litters the floor. Sam takes the hint, leaves Samuel to manage his brother, and goes off to collect the blood. Blood from the vamp that turned Dean. From the vamp that Sam _let _turn Dean. He shivers slightly as he works to gather the fluid. He quickly shakes off the coldness he suddenly feels and joins up with his grandfather once again.

Fight it Dean. Don't lose control. Don't give in. Fight it. The words echo through Dean's mind as he steels himself against the onslaught. Against the steady throb of pain, the constant drum of it that the damn poison has released within him. In his weakened state Dean can not do one thing to prevent his so called family from manhandling him. From carting him, leading him out of the building, away from the nest. He hates them. With his entire being. His vision begins to fade in and out and his skin crawls. He despises the feel of it. Of the sensation. Of their hands on him. The bastards lead him around like some kind of filthy, mangy mutt. His insides seethe with rage. He screams inside for them to let him go. To leave him alone. To stop touching him. He has another thought. Death. He wants them to die. The sooner the better. Although his body has chosen to betray him, his mind is in overdrive. He can. He must. He will get out of this. He feels his strength start to wane and it really pisses him off.

The pair can feel the change in Dean's body control immediately when his body finally gives out. They feel his legs buckle and the crush of his weight as it descends upon them. They know the exact moment when he loses the fight and succumbs to the pull of darkness, when he passes out cold. They look to one another again and share a silent sense of relief. They load Dean's limp frame into the van and wordlessly bind his arms and legs with rope. They both know the bonds would never hold him if it wasn't for the poison pumping through his veins, but right now they hope it will hold. That it will be enough for the ride back to the room. They just need to make it back. To their supplies. To another vial of dead man's blood. There if they need it. Everything is back there, back at the room. They just need to make it there in one piece.

"I'll drive Sam, you keep an eye on your brother. We have no idea how long we have." Sam and his grandfather share just one more glance before they take their respective positions in the vehicle and begin the journey back to the motel. Back to a cure for Dean.

He figures he must have blacked out for a time as he opens his eyes but does not remember letting them close. He tries to focus through the blur that coats them. He takes a moment to get his bearings and finds himself laying on the floor of the van. He sees Gramps at the wheel and Sam, who is seated across from him, wearing a very somber looking mask. Dean tries to rise but can't because it becomes apparent that his hands and feet are tied. He thinks his relatives are sneaky little cowards, too afraid to try and contain him while he is awake. He lets out a sigh of frustration and struggles against his bonds until his strength fades and he is forced to stop his attempts. His eyes catch onto and hold the gaze of the man who shares the back of the van with him. Dean does his best. He delivers the best, most intimidating, hateful, dagger throwing death glare he possibly can. He aims it squarely onto his brother. "You've..." He curses to himself, feels the pain well up inside and takes a shaky breath. "You've only delayed the inevitable S'm...I've... I've decided..." Dean takes a ragged breath. "No more Mr. Nice Guy... I am done. No more. It's time... to let the real me... shine through." Pause. Another shaky breath echoes through the van. "Death, Sam." Pause. "Death is what awaits you... my brother." Dean smiles and his eyes drift closed. He just needs to rest for a minute or two. Gather some strength. The game is not over yet. Not by a long shot.

**TBC...**


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi there... just another short chapter to keep you going.. :) This chapter may feel a bit bland but I'm hoping to add some spice next time. Thanks for reading and to all those who have sent a comment my way, I truly appreciate it! Until next time, I hope you will enjoy.**

Dean doesn't feel right. Something is off. The thoughts that float around in his head make him cringe. Blood? Death? He can't seem to stop the loop that continuously plays within him. His thoughts. They always lead back to blood. He pictures himself. Drinking. Blood. He pictures himself. Killing. To get to the blood. To get to the liquid that will quench his hunger. His thirst. But he knows that it can't be right. He doesn't want that. He feels confused and unsure as to what it means. He can't find any reason as to why his brain would conjure up images of that. There is only one creature that needs, that wants the taste of blood. Only vampires want that.

Vampires. Shit. The circumstances that led him here flood him and he suddenly can't breathe. No. A war rages inside. Inside Dean's mind. The poison, it seems to have an unexpected effect. Maybe it is because Dean has not yet taken the final step towards complete transformation. Maybe it is because deep inside, somewhere, he knows this is not what he really wants. Whatever the reason, it seems as though, as his body continues to fight against the affects of the dead man's blood, his mind sharpens and tries to morph back into its true self. To the real Dean. Brother, grandson, hunter.

He can feel the conflict of emotions that are muddled inside his head. They bubble up to the surface and the pull, the grip of the vampire seems to ebb away for the briefest of moments. And in that moment there is clarity. He wants the cure. He wants to be saved. He doesn't want this. Not this. Dean opens his eyes as far as they will allow. His gaze moves to look at his brother. Sam. Sammy. He has to protect Sammy. From him.

Sam sees Dean look at him. The darkness once evident in his green eyes has faded. The teeth, the eerie grin. All gone. His brother has come back and Sam can see so many emotions dance across Dean's face. Fear. Guilt. Worry. Pain. Sam can no longer relate to any of those. He can tell his brother is looking to him for support, for some kind of comfort in this incredibly strange situation but finds the words no longer come easy to him. He manages a small smile towards the man tied up and laying on the floor. "It's okay Dean. It won't be long now."

"SAM! Please! You gotta fix this! I don't want to turn. Don't let me drink. I..." Dean wants to talk, wants to ask his brother if he is okay, if he hurt him, but finds he can't. Because, as quickly as it left, Dean can once again feel the darkness infiltrate his senses. He is weak and hungry and tired and even though he tries to function with his rational being, he can feel the ever increasing pull of the vampire. He feels the walls begin to close, his true self start to suffocate. His fragile hold begins to fail, the heavy veil of darkness, of madness, starts to cloud over him, reaching out to reclaim his body and mind. His control falters. His thoughts start to scatter, his desire to keep Sam safe, to protect his baby brother are slowly being overrun. "NO! I AM NOT A MONSTER! I AM NOT A MONSTER! SAM! PLEASE!"

The last cling he had, that he had desperately been grasping on to to keep him sane dissipates and he again feels the urge. His fear and guilt and worry and pain are slowly being replaced by anger, hatred, loathing and hunger. It surges through him. The want. For just one taste.

**TBC...**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hello to everyone again! Here is another chapter, I hope you will find it enjoyable. Also, I would like to thank all of you for having a look at this story and double thanks to those who are taking the time to send me a comment on what you read. I really do appreciate it! Keep those comments and reviews coming, they really are fantastic to receive! Until next time... :)**

Sam looks to the front of the van and sees his grandfather's concerned gaze meet his through the rear view mirror. They are running out of time. The venom, the poison is fading, the weakness that held Dean contained now threatens to come undone. "Sam! We're here! Hurry, we need to hurry!" Sam rushes into action at the stress he hears come from Samuel. He does not want to become Dean's first meal. Or his last, whichever way you want to look at it.

Samuel flies out of the van and skirts around to the back. He grabs one side of Dean while Sam grabs the other. They lead him quickly through the street, to the motel and into their room in record time. They make fast work of securing him to a chair and look to each other as Dean begins to stir. Showtime is about to begin. Samuel spots his younger grandson quickly grab a blade from their arsenal and tuck it into the waistband of his pants. The older man heads to his kit, grabs a vial and a needle and gets another dose of dead man's blood ready. He has a strong, a very strong feeling they are going to have to use it.

Dean can feel it. That the poison has been filtered through his system and he is almost back to his total strength and full vampirish potential. He can hear his former self call to him in a soft whisper but finds it is just a slight irritant, incapable of changing anything. Dean Winchester the weak, pathetic and utterly useless creature is on his way out and Dean, the strong and invincible vampire is back in control. No pain, no weakness, just strength and determination. He can hear them, scratching around the room like rats in a maze. He can hear it. The heartbeats of the two men. One is steady, the other is rapidly increasing. He knows it is the sound of Samuel's heart that beats a speedy tune. And that it is Sam's that does not. Why is that Sam? Why aren't you scared? Hmm, it is a mystery that Dean is aching to solve. It just adds fuel to the fire that burns within.

Dean keeps his eyes closed, he doesn't want to spoil the surprise that awaits his captors. He feels good. Feels in total control. He has those two right where he wants them. He moves slightly and although he can tell his arms and legs are tied he smiles to himself when he can feel the rope start to give with just one flex of his muscles. His strength is restored and breaking his binds will be as difficult for him as if he was ripping through thread. No contest. He is free and soon it will be time to make them pay. But, not yet. He just stays where he is and waits. Waits for his chance. To hurt them. To get his meal, once and for all.

Samuel walks over to Dean, flanked by Sam, and gets ready to inject his grandson yet again with the vile concoction. He can't believe that he has to do this again. He had hoped it would all be finished by now and the three men would be busy sharing a beer and having a laugh or two. Samuel awakes from his stupor when Sam places a hand on his arm. "Hurry Samuel, he is waking up." Samuel nods to his younger grandson and readies himself along Dean's elbow. As he breaks skin with the needle he looks up to Dean's face. He sees him smile. He is horrified to see it is not a smile from his grandson. No. The smile he wears is one of a vampire.

"Sorry Gramps, this game is over... you are not getting another go at me with that shit." Dean breaks his arms away from the chair and elbows Samuel across the face, satisfied with the spurt of blood that pours from his nose. The ropes around his legs fall as if they weren't even tied and Dean quickly stomps on the vial, removing all chances of getting jabbed in any area of the body with that nasty poison again. He turns and faces Sam. And smiles. He keeps an eye on his brother while he reaches down, grabs Samuel by the collar of his shirt, and drags him across the floor. He has learned that you must keep an eye on both of these bastards at all times, they like to go for the sneak attack. Not this time. He watches Sam back up slowly, he knows his brain is working overtime, trying to come up with a plan, anything to stop him. Dean lets out a maniacal sounding chuckle because he also knows his baby brother is coming up with jack squat in the miracle idea to get out of this alive column. Dean's lips form into a smile and he can tell that Sam is about to bolt for the door. Dean shakes his head, he just can not allow his thirst quenching device to get away. Huh, he chuckles at his own wit. Device. Awesome. His free arm darts out, grabs hold of Sam's throat and starts to squeeze.

Sam grabs Dean's wrist with both hands, desperate to stop the crushing power of the grip, the suffocating hold on his throat. His brother still has Samuel by the fabric of his shirt and by all accounts the oldest of the three men is out cold. That can not be good. Sam is in disbelief. Dean is actually pushing him backwards towards the wall, firm grip intact, while dragging Samuel along behind him. Unbelievable, the strength within this vampire, within Dean, is amazing. In a very bad way. Sam feels his back and head collide with the wall and finds himself staring into the face of absolute darkness again. Into the eyes of his brother. A monster.

Sam tries to think. He wants to reason with Dean but that is just a tad on the impossible side when your air supply is being cut off. His vision slowly starts to blur, he can start to see the edges fade and he knows it won't be long until this assault on his body leaves him unconscious. And then the game is over. Then he will really be up shit creek. And there is not a paddle in sight.

Dean is in complete control. He bathes in it. The power of what courses through him. Samuel is a rag doll in his hand. Sam, a man who once stood against demons and the devil himself, has been reduced to putty, to do with what he will. What a rush. Dean is distracted by a slight movement from the man on the floor. Sheesh, this old guy just doesn't know when to stop fighting. He looks down and sees Samuel start to come around. Oh no you don't old man, I am tired of dealing with you.

Sam notices movement from his grandfather and as Dean looks down to his form on the floor, Sam knows he needs to act. His eyes are fuzzy, his vision still blurred from lack of oxygen but he has to do something. Now. He allows one of his hands to fall from its position on Dean's wrist and reach around to his back. To the waistband of his jeans. To his knife. To his only chance. He grips the handle and, seeing that Dean is about ready to smack Samuel's head with a booted leg, thrusts his arm from around him and tears into Dean's flesh with the blade. He pulls the knife out as his ears are assaulted by an inhuman scream, a deafening hiss as it is let out by his now bleeding brother. Sam feels the hold on his neck release and runs to where their equipment lays. He grabs the container of dead man's blood, pours a generous amount of it onto his knife as a precaution, and approaches Dean quickly, container in hand, before he has the chance to recover from the knife wound in his side. Sam just needs to get some of this blood into the cut and Dean's circulation should take care of the rest.

Dean curses and screams and howls at the unexpected pain as it flairs through his side. He really, really needs to kill these dudes, he is beyond pissed off now. He is enraged. A stab wound won't kill him he knows but it still hurts like a son of a bitch. He has to steady himself for a moment while the pain begins to dissipate. He realizes he let Sam go when he was stabbed and silently scolds himself for being so stupid again. These stupid hunters. They are slippery assholes. Huh, hunters. My former life. Dean finds his mind starts to drift back to when he and Sam used to go on hunts together. Used to laugh. Used to have fun. Used to... shit! Dean reminds himself about how that life is gone. Forever. He needs to embrace his new role in the world. Time to get on with it already.

What is Dean doing? Sam tries to comprehend. It looks like he is just standing there. Motionless. His face displays someone deep in thought. Sam doesn't hesitate a second more. He moves with incredible speed and reaches Dean before the older Winchester even registers his arrival. By the time Dean catches on to what events are about to unfold, it is too late.

**TBC...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello everyone and thanks for tuning in for another chapter! I hope you will enjoy and feel free to drop me a line to let me know what you think. I'm not sure if another chapter will be out before Santa comes to town so I would like to wish you all Happy Holidays! Thanks for reading! :)**

It happens in the blink of an eye yet to Dean the scene seems to play out in slow motion. He can't focus. He can't seem to make his body react. It's like he has been split into two different entities. He finds his mind is filled with memories. Of all kinds. Hunting. With Sam. Laughing. With Sam. On the open road. With Sam. He catches movement beside him and blinks to try and lift the fog, the memories that invade his mind. Sam is there, he holds a knife and a container of blood. Questions flood Dean's brain. What? Blood? Why does Sammy have blood? Dean feels his mind click back into gear. The mind of the other man who shares his body now shows itself. Right. Blood. I want blood. I need blood. And Sam is going to give it to me? He is bringing it to me? No, that's not right. Something does not fit.

Dean's heightened senses tell him in an instant. The pungent aroma that makes him gag and wrinkle his nose tells him. This blood, it is not the delicious, thirst quenching remedy that he seeks, it is bad. Poison. Tainted. Dean realizes that Sam is not holding the liquid that will help him, he grips the blood that will hurt him. But, why does Sammy want to hurt me? Why? But. Wait. Sammy? He stabbed me? But. Why? Dean thinks about it for a moment more and it becomes crystal clear. Right. Because he hates me. I am a monster.

Sam doesn't say a word while he watches the confusion and disorientation flash across Dean's face. His brother looks lost, unsure of what has happened to him and what is about to happen. Sam takes the chance to act so, while his eyes remains on Dean's face, he pours some of the contents of the container into his hand. In one quick and fluid motion, Sam lifts up the fabric of Dean's shirt and presses his bloodied palm into the other man's open wound.

Any thoughts that had tumbled inside Dean's mind cease instantly, replaced by the burn, the seething pain and heat that erupts wildly within his side. He clutches at the wound and reaches out to grab Sam for support. He watches his brother easily sidestep his attempts and he goes down in a heap of agony. Not again. That is the next thought that infiltrates Dean's confused mind. Shit. He can feel the poison seep into him, it runs through his veins and saps him of his strength and power. Shit. Stupid hunters.

Satisfied that Dean will not be able to lunge at his throat any time soon, Sam steps back and takes a moment to gather his wits. He was very close. Close to being the lowest on the food chain just a moment ago, and he sure the hell does not want to find himself in that position again. For the first time since he resurfaced from the depths of the cage, Sam thinks it may have been actual fear that ran through him while Dean had a vice grip on his throat. Then again, he can not remember what it is that fear feels like.

Samuel slowly opens his eyes and gazes upon another not to be believed sight. His two grandsons. His own flesh and blood. One stands above the other, both are bloodied and bruised. Dean lays on the floor, an obvious knife wound displays itself across his side. He moans and groans and clutches and claws at his wound. Sam stands in silence, one hand drips blood from its digits to the floor below, the other holds both a blade and an empty container. Shit. Samuel sees the unmistakable outline of bruises on Sam's neck. Bruises that look to be in the pattern of a hand print. Samuel shivers at the thought. Sam's neck, Dean's hand. Man, it has been one hell of a night for these boys. "Sam, are you okay son?" The older man notices the turn of Sam's head towards him and a silent affirmation as to his condition displayed through a nod. Sam approaches him, offers an arm, and with his aid, Samuel slowly rises to his feet. He wavers slightly and the instant formation of a nasty headache reminds him that had Dean clocked him but good. He doesn't remember much after that but, by the condition of the two Winchester boys, he knows he must have missed one hell of a show.

"Samuel, you should get that damn cure set up, we need to get it into him before he has another go at us." Sam watches the older man shuffle off and begin to combine all the ingredients. It looks like nasty shit. He moves his gaze from Samuel to Dean. He really wants this night to be over. Sam feels a flash of anger towards the man sprawled out on the floor. He drags Dean across the ground to the chair that he had occupied earlier. The younger brother bends down, picks up the ropes that lay discarded on the floor, but stops at the sound of Samuel's voice.

"No Sam. Do not restrain him. This is not going to be a pleasant experience for your brother and I am not sure how his body is going to react. Best to leave him loose."

Sam looks to Samuel as he makes his way back to the brothers. He has a cup of the cure in his hand and a look of determination on his face. "Samuel, he has already gotten loose twice and I do not want to risk having another confrontation with him. He had me by the throat Samuel. He was going to kill me. He was so strong. So set on getting to the blood. My blood. He... it's just. He isn't Dean. I don't trust him. Not right now." Sam sees his grandfather's gaze soften slightly. "Let's just get him secured on the chair Samuel, it will be safer. For all of us."

Dean can hear muffled voices but can not seem to make out what they say. He is sore. Everywhere. He feels pain. Everywhere. He still lays face down and works to turn his head to try and figure out what conversation is going on around him. He can make out the figures of his brother and grandfather and they look to be absorbed in some kind of intense discussion. He can tell because Sam's shoulders are tensed up and Dean feels an involuntary shudder flow through him as his eyes focus on Sam's bloody hand. He can't remember. What did Sam do? What did he do? Is Sam okay? Gotta make sure Sammy is okay. Dean moves his hands up to his sides and attempts to lift himself up from his position on the floor. He groans and collapses back down when the pain increases ten fold. He notices his movements have now caught the attention of the other two men and he closes his eyes to block out their stares.

"Look Samuel, he's already trying to get up. It won't be long until he is back up to his vampy potential and I am not going through that shit again. So please, let me do this."

"No Sam. Look at him. He can barely move so he is no threat to us. We will get him up on the chair. We will give him the cure. Then we will have to wait and see what the results are. No restraints Sam. Not this time. He needs our help. Your brother needs us."

"Fine" Sam spits the word out hard to make sure that Samuel knows exactly how he feels about this not smart decision on the old man's part. He moves in unison with his grandfather and together they heave Dean up from the ground and place him on the chair. Samuel moves in close to Dean's face and speaks to him gently and softly.

"Dean?" Samuel waits until he sees Dean's eyes on him before he continues. "I have the cure for you. We'll help get it into you and then you will have to ride it out. It is going to be unpleasant and I am not exactly sure how it is going to affect you. We will be right here, with you, for you if you need us." Samuel does not see any sort of recognition or acceptance in his older grandson's eyes so his gaze drifts to his other grandson. To say Sam looks pissed off would be a definite understatement. "Sam. Get behind your brother and hold his arms back. This is gonna get rough."

Dean's sense of smell is in overload. The repulsive odour ravages his nose and his throat. There is no way he is going to drink that stuff. He starts to struggle as much as his body will allow. He feels a sense of panic rise up inside of him at his body's refusal to listen to his commands. The panic increases exponentially when he feels his arms be grabbed and forced behind his back. He hisses at the pain that runs the length of his side and he scrunches his eyes shut to try and stop himself from expelling the bile he starts to feel rise up from his guts.

Samuel leans in and lifts the cure up to Dean's face. He frowns as Dean begins to move his head from side to side, as he does everything to prevent the liquid from entering his system. "Dean, this is what you have been waiting for. The reason you have made it this far. Please son, open your mouth." Dean doesn't answer, just continues to squirm and fight with all he has. "Okay Sam, plan B. Hold his head still."

Sam does not hesitate. He lets go of Dean's arms and grabs his head. He looks to Samuel and watches his grandfather pry his eldest son's mouth open. Sam can feel Dean sweat under his hands. He knows he has entered ultimate panic mode. He struggles to free himself, to avoid the inevitable, to avoid the liquid that will cure him. Sam feels his brother's weak attempts to remove his hands from his head and Sam can't help but feel a grim smile pass his lips as it seems their roles have been reversed. How does it feel Dean? Sam watches Samuel tip the cup and both men seem to hold their breath. It has finally arrived. The moment that all three men have waited for. To get Dean back. To cure him. To save him.

No. Dean feels the liquid enter his mouth. The sickening taste of it makes his stomach turn, his gag reflex activate. He spews the contents out and smiles tiredly as he sees it now decorate a lovely pattern across his grandfather's shirt.

"Okay, that is enough!" Samuel looks at Sam and shivers at the controlled rage he hears laced within his words. "Samuel, let me do it." The older man is reluctant but the look in his grandson's eyes makes him move. Sam will get it done. Sam will cure his brother.

Sam appears in Dean's vision and the older brother can't help but throw him a jibe. "Hi Sammy... I am not gonna drink that shit. You can't make me." It's Sam's turn to smirk and Dean watches him lean in, hears the beat of his brother's heart in his chest and drifts his focus to Sam's throat as his brother whispers into his ear. "Poor, misguided, and entirely wrong Dean. Sorry but yes, you are going to drink it and yes bro, I am the one who is going to make you."

Sam looks to his grandfather. "Hold him and follow my lead. Don't let go." Sam pries open Dean's mouth without any remorse for the obvious pain that he inflicts onto his brother as he does so. "Bottoms up." Sam pours the liquid into Dean's mouth, clasps his hand over his mouth so he can not spit the contents out, drops the empty cup onto the floor, and pinches Dean's nose closed.

"Okay Dean, let's see how long you can hold your breath."

**TBC...**


	11. Chapter 11

**Happy Christmas Eve everyone! I hope you enjoy this latest chapter. It would be great to hear what you think, those reviews are a great motivator! :) All the best to all of you out there in fanfiction land for 2011! **

Dean tries. He does. He keeps his eyes on his brother's and holds his breath. And holds his breath. But he knows this is one challenge he can not win. He is at a very strong disadvantage and he is losing the battle. Quickly. As his eyes keep their lock on his brother, Sam's gaze does not falter, does not stray from his own and Dean senses his brother will not cave in his resolve. He will not let go of him until he cedes. As Dean starts to feel panic rise from the constant lack of oxygen, he closes his eyes. He wishes he was stronger. He curses himself as he feels his throat compulsively swallow, his body's need for air has come out the victor. Has overridden any other thought. Its desire, its need to feel the sweet flow of oxygen enter into it have left any other outcomes in the dust. As the nasty fluid slides down his throat, Dean feels the hands on him fall away. His mouth is free. His nose is free. His head is free. Dean's head lolls to the side and for a brief moment he enjoys the simple luxury of taking in a breath of air. And another. He gulps it in greedily, to appease the ache that has formed in his lungs.

Murmurs and movements flutter around him. Dean's confusion returns. His body feels weird. Out of sync. He tries to concentrate, to figure out what has led him here, how he ended up in this position. His thoughts are clouded over by the tremors as they start. As they wrack mercilessly throughout his body. He can not control them. His body rattles at the ferocity of them. He tries to fight. To keep his body steady. But the battle is lost and his body betrays him. He convulses in an unsteady rhythm and has no choice but to ride it out. He grips onto the chair for support and makes a silent plea for it to stop.

The shakes subside slowly but the relief that Dean starts to feel at that fact is quickly extinguished. His body seems to be in pure torture mode. The shudders have relented but Dean now feels them morph into something else. He feels like he has been plunged into Hell itself. The sensation that flows through him next is one of incredible and indescribable heat. His body now burns. It feels like it is on fire. From the inside. Like his blood has been ignited and now stands aflame within the confines of his body. It sends torrents of heat through every vein, every capillary, every joint, every bone, every inch and fibre of his being. A steady stream of unrelenting pain, of scalding heat, of sickness overflows within him. He falls to the floor, onto all fours, and hears muted voices speak to him. Or maybe they are just tricks, figments of his screwed up mind, as it tries to reach out to something familiar, something to soothe his delirium and agony. Dean opens his weary eyes and sees feet in his line of vision. He feels a sense of relief that at least he is not alone, but he frowns when a bucket is placed on the ground in front of him. One thing Dean knows, has learned, is that the sight of a very large, intimidating receptacle such as this is just not a good sign, and he especially doesn't like that it has been placed in front of him.

His brows furrow in a distinctive question mark pattern and Dean looks up to the owner of the feet. To Samuel. He is about to openly question the sudden appearance of the container, but as he opens his mouth to talk, he feels a rush of liquid, of nausea, climb up his throat and finds he has no choice. The reflexes within his body expel the contents at lightning speed and he instinctively hovers over the bucket. He retches out putrid black fluid in what feels to him like an endless cycle of heaves. It goes on and on and Dean finds himself thinking it will never end, that it will kill him. And he thinks maybe death would be a preferable option right now. Just to make this agony stop.

He gasps for breath and spits out the last of the vile tasting shit as the violent heaves finally lessen and come to a halt. He wishes to have just a moment to recover, to let the ache in his gut relax, but it is not meant to be. His mind goes into overdrive and he begins to relive the torment, the horror, each and every event that he has seen, that he has done, that he has been through since that screwed up moment in the alley. Since the moment he was turned. They flash in his mind. They flood his brain. And he can not control them, he can not hide from them. Not from the truth. It's like a movie, a terrible, hideous movie that has no off switch, that he can not change to another channel. Dean is consumed by the rerun that revolves around in his mind. He is entirely oblivious to everything and anything else. He can only feel the anguish, the guilt, the revulsion towards himself. And it threatens to overcome him. He starts to pant. He starts to gasp for air. The images. The horrible, terrifying, heart breaking images. They continue to invade his brain. And they shake him to his very core. He finds himself face to face with the monster. The monster who wears his skin. The one who wears his face.

God. He hurts. He was stabbed. By his own brother. He sees his own hands. They are around Sam's throat. The look on his own face. He enjoyed it. He loved the feel of control over his brother. The strength, the power he held over Sam. The surge of desire he felt as he stared at Sam's throat. At the blood pumping underneath. He sees his hand. As it lashes out and strikes his grandfather. Without remorse. The ache he felt within. The all consuming want. The need. The overwhelming desire. To drink blood. But not just any blood. Sam's. He longed for it. The vampire within him had seeped into each and every part of him. He was no longer in control of his body. Of his own mind. He was weak. And, he hated himself for it. The irresistible desire to drink. To quench his thirst. No matter what the cost to him. Or to Sam. Or to Samuel. He wanted it. Just one taste.

Dean curls up on the floor as wave after wave of memories wash over him and threaten to destroy him from the inside out. And it keeps on coming. There is no running. No forgetting. No walking away. Dead man's blood. Injected into him. The feel of it course through his veins. The pain he was subjected to by his own brother's hand. The warehouse. The killing. The desire to taste blood. It sickens him. God. Lisa. Ben. The alley. The vamp who turned him. And Sam.

God. Sam. The smirk on Sam's face. Dean sees it. His brother watches. His brother makes no attempt to help him. Dean feels sick. Sam. He had watched the scene unfold. He was there. He looked on, with a smile on his face, while he was attacked and turned into a vampire. Right in front of him. And he did nothing. Sam, the brother who Dean has spent his entire life protecting, looking after, keeping safe. Did nothing. Just stood there and watched the whole thing. Sam did not lift one finger to stop it. Hell, it looked to Dean like he actually enjoyed the show. Sam. Why?

The rewind runs its course through his mind and the visions stop. And Dean is cured. There are no cravings. He is no longer plagued by the consuming thirst for blood. He can no longer hear the constant drum of heartbeats. Or hear the blood as it pulses and runs its course throughout the veins. He no longer wants the things that a vampire does. He sighs. He is no longer a monster. He is cured.

Dean finds he can not move. He is utterly exhausted and spent. Physically. Emotionally. He is used up. He remains where he is on the floor. He can not control it as a moan escapes his lips. Shit, his entire body hurts. His side aches and burns and he rationalizes that these are the usual affects from a stab wound.

But, most of all, he feels an immense and uncontrollable pain in his heart. It hurts, it is wounded like never before. Far beyond any kind of physical injury. This hurt cuts deeper than any knife, any blade ever could. The emotional anguish, the excruciating pain of what Dean has just witnessed is almost too much. It hurts like a son of a bitch. Dean's heart aches. Because of his brother.

Because of Sam's betrayal.

**TBC...**


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello everyone and HAPPY HOLIDAYS! Thank you for having a look at this next chapter and I would appreciate any comments or feedback you are interested in sending my way. I hope as always that you will enjoy this latest installment. Thank you to any and all that take the time to read! All the best to each of you as we head in to yet another New Year. :)**

Samuel is frozen in place, to the exact spot he has occupied since Dean was forced to drink from the cup. He looks to where Dean lays and feels queasy and sick to his stomach. He lets out a breath that he didn't even realize he had been holding. From what he knows of the cure, of its effects on those who take it, Samuel feels confident that it has worked. That the vampire, the one who had consumed Dean is now gone, eradicated and destroyed. He also knows that the cure is a nasty son of a bitch and that his grandson had to of endured one hell of an agonizing journey in order to come back to them. To become human again. Samuel had heard of the effects but had never witnessed them first hand. Until now. And it shakes him to the core. He had watched him. His own grandson. He watched him shudder and shake with such force, with such violence that the older man swears he could hear Dean's teeth rattle in his skull. He had heard him. Gag and gasp and fight for every molecule of air. He had witnessed him. Collapse to the floor and try to curl in on himself, in a defensive posture, as he tried to free himself of the assault, the bombardment as it ravaged his body and his mind.

But now, at last, the tremors that had torn throughout his body have ceased and Dean appears to be still. Samuel feels a rush of relief cascade over him at the realization. His grandson's nightmare is now over. The cure has worked. As his eyes remain focused on the young man on the ground, Samuel also feels a sadness grow within him and his hands start to tremble slightly. They had come so close. He and Sam had been so very close to having to do the unthinkable. They narrowly avoided having to kill their own flesh and blood. To kill Dean. Samuel bites back the sudden nausea that particular thought evokes and instead focuses on the fact that it had not come to that. Dean is alive. Dean has been cured. And right now, more than anything else, Dean needs them. Samuel breathes a heavy sigh and slowly makes his way to where Dean's prone form still lays.

As he closes in, Samuel hears a soft moan escape Dean's lips and sees him roll onto his back. His face wears a mask of pain and exhaustion, of wear and tear that only physical and emotional stress can be responsible for. Samuel knows Dean must be in rough shape if he can allow his pain and emotions to be viewed so easily. Dean's usual bravado and cockiness have left him and instead Samuel faces a wounded and shattered version of his grandson. Dean's eyes are open but they do not seem to take in any of the surroundings, they look blank, lost and empty. Samuel's heart plummets as, even when he stands directly beside the other man, the eyes just continue to stare, unflinching and unblinking towards the ceiling above. He can only guess as to what this man laying at his feet has seen. What he has been through in order to get to this point. What horrors he had to overcome to become whole again. What happened to make him look so broken, to be reduced to a shell of the man he usually portrays. And it breaks Samuel's heart.

His eyes conduct a scan of Dean's body, and Samuel tries to gauge his physical condition, to do an internal account of his injuries without having to touch him. He feels Dean still needs a little space within himself, a chance to calm his mind from whatever it had been subjected to. Samuel approaches closer, cautiously, he wants to prevent any alarm bells that may be set to go off in Dean's head at the slightest amount of external stimuli. He sees that his face wears a layer of blood and dirt. His hands are in a similar condition and Samuel finds his gaze finally comes to rest on the wound in his grandson's side. That he assumes Sam had put there. That Sam must have been forced to inflict upon him to free himself of the vampire's grasp and help to break the spell of its hold on his brother. The gash looks painful and has started to seep blood at an increased speed. This is their first priority, everything else can wait. This needs to be treated. Now that the vampire is no longer stored in Dean's body, his weakened state will not allow his body to fight off the blood loss and possible infection for long. They need to get him patched up quickly so his grandson can succumb to some much needed and deserved rest.

The older man kneels beside the younger one and hopes he can break through to him. He does not want to startle or upset Dean any more than he already is, but Samuel wants his consent before he begins to work on him. He wants him to know exactly what is going to happen every step of the way. "Dean? Son? Are you with me?" The eyes remain in place although Dean's mouth opens slightly and Samuel can see him swallow. "You did really great Dean. It's over now. It worked son." As Samuel reaches out and places a gentle hand onto Dean's shoulder, he feels the tension course through him and sees a flinch rattle throughout his frame. Shocked that the mere flutter of his touch could cause such distress, Samuel immediately withdraws his hand. "Dean, listen to me. The cure, it worked. You are safe now. But you have a nasty gash on your side that we need to look after. I know it hurts but it has to be done. I promise that you can get some sleep soon." Silence. "Do you understand Dean?"

As Samuel waits expectantly for a response from his eldest grandson, another thought comes to him, another person. Sam. He has been so lost in his own emotions, his own feelings, so focused on Dean, that he had pretty much forgotten about his younger grandson. Now that he reflects on him however, he wonders why the hell he is the one over here, looking after his older sibling. Why is it that he has not seen or heard anything out of the younger of the two since Sam forced his brother to drink the healing liquid. Curiosity gets the better of him and Samuel lifts his eyes from Dean onto the room they occupy. He scans the area for the other man and then he spots him. Sam. It's weird. The younger brother just stands there. Samuel can not for the life of him figure out why, why Sam did not follow him, did not rush over to be at Dean's side. Surely he is not mad at his brother. Sam must realize it was the vampire who had lashed out at him and not Dean. Well, whatever the reason, Samuel finds that as he stares at Sam's face, he can not read the emotions displayed there. He shakes slightly when he realizes why. His younger grandson does not show any. No emotion at all. Samuel has to admit that it freaks him out, more than a little. But, there is no time to contemplate, he needs Sam's help to get Dean looked after and right now, at this moment, the older of the two brothers is the one he needs to focus on.

"Sam? I could use your help over here. We need to get Dean's wound cleaned and stitched up and get him in the bed so he can rest." Distant eyes stare at him across the room. Just as he is about to repeat his request, Samuel sees Sam start to move towards him. Towards his brother. The older man feels disturbed at Sam's apparent lack of concern and wonders what the hell is the reason for his reaction. He thinks a moment more and as he brings a hand up to rub his weary eyes, concludes that he must be tired as well. Perhaps his thoughts are not as clear as they should be, that perhaps he has made up an issue where there isn't one. Sam is probably in a state of shock similar to the one he finds himself in. After all, Samuel's mind has been on overload and so maybe it has decided to start to play tricks on him. It has been a long, difficult night for each of them. Those thoughts and reflections are then interrupted by sudden movement. And that movement definitely comes from his grandson.

Samuel looks down and sees Dean, his eyes are wild, his skin wears a new layer of sweat. The expression displayed on his face is one the older man can only assume is pure and raw fear. He hears the sudden and rapid increase in his grandson's breath, the change it undergoes as it now comes out in short and desperate pants, his panic evident to the eyes of his grandfather. Dean shakes and grunts and with enormous effort, that Samuel did not think was possible considering his current state, he turns over onto his stomach. His grandfather is in utter and total disbelief, mesmerized by the sight his eyes continue to take in. Samuel watches as Dean, though he is wounded, exhausted and on the verge of collapse, starts to pull, to drag himself across the floor. Confusion floods Samuel's mind. He can not comprehend what would initiate this, what would cause such a response to well up inside his grandson. He thinks back but does not recall any literature, any research of the cure having indicated such a development as this to occur after it has been administered. He is confused and can not understand it. At all.

He remains perplexed. Dean still crawls, still fights, still groans and pants in an effort to put mere inches between himself and his grandfather. Dean's survival mode has kicked into full gear and Samuel fights the urge to reach out and grab on to Dean, to prevent him as he proceeds with his futile attempt at escape. But, because Samuel does not know the reason for the outburst, if he was to put any kind of restraint on him, it would only heighten the fear that he feels radiate from the younger man. Samuel knows Dean will soon lose the fight, and as hard as it is to watch, he decides not to act. He will wait until Dean's body relents, until his last iota of strength leaves him, until he can no longer move. No longer fight.

As he continues to gaze at his grandson, as Dean seems to be oblivious to pain and seems to run purely on adrenaline alone, Samuel questions it in his mind again. What has sparked this fight or flight response in the man who slithers slowly along the floor. He replays events in his mind. Samuel wonders what he has done to provoke such a display. He questions it. Until Dean looks back. And then Samuel sees it. In the eyes that show fear and desperation and terror. Dean. He looks back. But he does not look at Samuel. No. Not at his grandfather. Samuel is not the cause of this disturbing scene. The older man follows Dean's gaze to confirm the theory that has sprang to his head. As he does, Samuel feels at a total and complete loss. Dean. He is terrified. Of the man that approaches. Of his brother. Of Sam. He crawls along the floor. It looks like he wants, like he needs nothing more that to get away. To keep out of reach. To put as much distance as he can from the thing that seems to terrify him the most. He will do anything. To get away. From Sam.

**TBC...**


	13. Chapter 13

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**Hello and welcome! I hope that you will enjoy this latest chapter. Thanks as always for taking the time to have a gander at this story. Take care. :) **

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Dean looks back and sees him. He sees Sam continue his approach. His heart flutters and starts to beat wildly in his chest as he is consumed by a rush of almost uncontrollable panic. It pitches to and fro within him and then quickly transforms into an unyielding attack of memories, fear, shock, and hurt. Through it all, one image returns time and time again. To torment him as no other image ever could. He swallows back the bile that starts to climb up his throat. God. Sammy. His brother. He is gone. The man, the thing that now stalks towards him, the one he has travelled with since his mysterious return from the cage, is not his brother. He is tainted. Evil.

And it's that thought that motivates him to plug along, to continue, to get the hell away. Away from the evil version of his brother that now does nothing but make his skin crawl. Flashes of Sam, of what he allowed to happen continue to assault and haunt Dean's troubled mind. They override the rational part of his brain that shouts out for him to stop. To give in. The part that tells him he needs to get help. That he is hurt and in trouble. Instead, the flashes encourage him. To will his body to act, to propel itself forward. To move. Dean's eyes remain fixated on the stranger, but he reaches out with both arms, digs them into the ground and resumes his slow, desperate and futile attempt at escape.

As a searing flare of pain rips at his side and slices its way along his entire body, it forces Dean to look away and brings him to a sudden and complete stop. He feels vulnerable, his form a quivering mass, sprawled out in all its weakness on the floor. But he can do nothing to stop it, to control it. The pain, it's like he is being split right in half. He thinks that if he had the ability to look down on himself right now he would not be surprised if he was greeted by the sight of his guts spilling out of him and staining the very floor he has been using as his escape route. The floor he has dragged himself upon. He breathes his way through the worst of it. Waits out the agony until the pain subsides just enough to at least bring his brain back online. For his fuzzy vision to settle itself. To prompt him to go forward.

Dean feels adrift in a sea of perpetual chaos. Doesn't know what is real. What to believe. His thoughts are disjointed and random and he knows, can feel the tell tale signs of delirium as they set in. He just does not know. He wavers back and forth, he thinks maybe his mind is screwed up, maybe the visions he saw were a figment of a delirious mind. Maybe he has imagined all of it. Maybe Sam is okay. Dean chances another glance behind is shoulder and that hope fades completely, and he puts faith in his instincts when he catches sight of his brother. The bastard is calm. He is not freaked out one iota about the state Dean is in. That is all the confirmation the older of the brothers needs to be sure. If that was the real Sammy he would have been over in a heartbeat, in a flash, to make sure Dean was okay. So Dean does the only thing he can think of. He turns his head, the same one that now pounds out an annoying samba beat into his skull, and resumes his crusade for freedom.

As he crawls, scrapes his nails into the floor and slides his battered body further away from the cause of his torment, the boost of adrenaline that allowed Dean to get this far starts to wane and he curses when his body starts to fail him. Starts to give out under the stress. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean knows all his work, all his struggles and current efforts are for not. They are useless. That his fate is inevitable. That, in the end, Sam the imposter will still get to him.

"Sam, stop!" Dean had been so absorbed, so stuck inside his own brain, his own thoughts, so oblivious to the presence of a third person in the room that he flinches and gasps at the sound that bellows out. He looks to the direction of the voice and for the first time since his journey across the floor began, he seems to acknowledge Samuel. His grandfather. He wonders how long he has been there. He thinks maybe he had talked to him before? Or. He stops in mid thought, the frustration and confusion that the lack of answers leaves him with infuriates him to no end. As he watches Samuel he has to fight back another wave of nausea as the man seems to shift in and out of faze, seems to split into two, as both versions start to sway in front of his eyes. Dean shakes his head to clear his increasingly blurred vision and he finally admits to himself that he is in bad shape, in deep shit. As the two figures before him slowly mold back into one he takes a good look at the man. And then he remembers. He feels a torrent of shame and guilt slam into him as he gazes onto his grandfather's bloodied face. God. He is responsible. Dean is the one that caused the damage that he sees.

But Samuel's eyes do not focus on Dean, they are directed entirely on Sam. Samuel has an arm extended outward as if to ward off the other man's approach. Dean's eyes travel along the length of the arm and he feels a smile tug at his lips. It has worked. His grandfather has done it. Has stopped Sam from closing in on him. But Dean can not understand why he is pretty much ecstatic that Sam has stopped. And then he hears a voice inside him, it tells him not to trust Sam, that he needs to get as far away as he can from him. He is not Dean's brother. Not anymore. Dean listens to the voice in his head, closes his eyes in relief and takes this for the golden opportunity he thinks it is. Another chance to get away. To escape. Thank you gramps. He spots Samuel's head turn in his direction and, with a smile still planted upon his features, Dean turns back and carries on. He thinks he can hear his name. It drifts along through the fog, the muddled mass that is his brain. He can't remember why but he has the strongest of urges. He can not stop. For anything.

Every movement brings another wave of pain. It crashes down on him, in a relentless deluge, and it becomes more and more difficult for the older brother to fight against it. Dean tries to suppress it but he is pretty sure he lets out a pitiful and weak sounding moan. He can hear his own breath. He can hear its rapid entrance and exit through his mouth. But, as his vision begins to swim, to cloud over and fade, Dean can not actually tell if any of the precious air reaches his lungs. He forces himself to breathe deeper, to calm his nerves and control the increasing difficulty he seems to have in the formation of a single thought or movement. He prods himself, through silent yells and swears, to stop being a weak and pathetic bitch and whiner, suck it up and get on with it already. Dean can not let the chance get away. His grandfather has given him an opening and he needs to take advantage of it. It is a constant drone within him. Get away Dean. Have to get away.

But, all the coaxes, all the insults and swears that Dean tries to draw strength from are to no avail. His body continues to betray him. It weakens him. As he doubles his efforts to inch away he can't fight the fact that his body is done with this shit. He feels it collapse into itself and finds no part of him is willing to listen. His arms can not move, his fingers have become just a bunch of useless digits, too weak to obey even the most simple of commands. The pain in his side intensifies and he can feel the steady burn of it as it scorches him from the inside. Dean's body begins to tremble, overcome by the weight, the exertion placed upon it. He sighs and is now resigned to the fact. His escape has officially come to a halt.

His body goes lax, seems to settle right into the floorboards and as the darkness begins to close in around him, as voices fade in and out, he wishes for only one thing. He can't really identify the reason why but he knows what he wants. This time, just this once, when he finally surrenders to the comfort of the impending blackness, this time, he does not want to wake up.

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**TBC... Please, feel free to let me know what you think, comments and reviews are incredibly wonderful to receive... :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Hello out there! Thanks for stopping by to check out the latest chapter, I appreciate it. I hope you find some enjoyment in the next installment of this tale. And hey, I would like to send a special shout out to gr8read, for all of their great comments during the life of this story, it makes it all worth while! Thanks to all who take the time to read. :)

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Samuel is over to his eldest grandson's side in a fraction of a second. "Dean?" No response. God, he looks like he's dead. Samuel leans in close, feels for a pulse and listens for an exhale of breath. When he finds that his grandson is indeed still among the living, he sighs. Samuel probes the tender flesh at Dean's side and flinches at the heat that radiates off the skin surrounding the knife wound. Hell, his entire body is heating up but for now he just needs to concentrate his efforts on the puncture. He applies pressure to the gash in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood but feels an alarm bell go off in his own head when Dean makes no movement at all. None.

"Dean?" No luck. It seems Dean has left the building, he is still out cold. Although the lack of reaction is a concern, at this point it is probably for the best, considering Samuel can't seem to make heads or tails out of the scene he just witnessed. God, his grandson must really be out of it. The pure panic and overwhelming need to escape that oozed from Dean was so very disturbing to watch. The questions seem to tumble endlessly through Samuel's brain. What exactly was it that he was trying so desperately to escape from? Sam? It doesn't make one lick of sense. What was going through Dean's head? Why in the world would he be scared of his own brother?

Speaking of which, where the hell is he? This whole situation is getting old. Fast. Samuel can feel his anger start to rise up and threaten to ignite his blood into a fast rolling boil. He is desperate to find some answers to the perplexing and starting to piss him off loop he seems to be stuck in. He spins his head around. "Sam! Get your ass over here!" He watches his grandson make his way over, at what to Samuel seems to be a far too leisurely pace. When he arrives, the younger man squats on his haunches and looks to his grandfather. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Samuel thinks he sees a whisper of shock pass over the other man's face. Then it is gone, replaced by the hardened look that seems to be a permanent fixture these days.

"Look Samuel, you are the one who told me to stop. And it was the correct thing to do. It was quite obvious to you and then to me that Dean didn't want to have me anywhere in his general vicinity. I seemed to make things worse so I listened to you and backed off. What is it exactly that you had expected me to do? Hmm? You saw him." The older man looks into the eyes of Sam and can't make out what he sees there. Anger? Frustration? Indifference? "He was terrified of me! You saw it! Just how was I supposed to come near him when he was doing everything and anything, including crawling on the god damned floor, just to get away from me! He was scared to death! So tell me, what would you of had me do?"

Whoa. Perhaps Samuel had approached this the wrong way. Sam looks pissed off. Maybe he is right to feel that way. After all, Dean was absolutely petrified when he noticed his brother making his way towards him. Samuel feels a twinge of guilt as he realizes that Sam now finds himself facing an interrogation by his own grandfather. But, still, that doesn't explain all the strangeness away. Why Sam didn't seem at all interested in Dean's welfare is a question that bounces around in Samuel's head. He should have came over to check on him the moment the last remnants of that stupid cure had left his body. Samuel is determined. He will get to the bottom of it, he will find out the truth. Either from Sam or from Dean. One of his grandson's is going to fess up and do some explaining, but he knows now is not the time. He will let it go, he will cede Sam's point for the time being. "Okay, okay, you're right. Sorry Sam but, I... I just don't get it. Do you have any idea why he reacted like that? To you of all people?" He looks to Sam and hopes that maybe Dean's brother will give him a bread crumb, some little insignificant clue as to what is behind all of this.

"No. Well..." Samuel can almost see the gears start up as Sam's mind churns over recent events. "Well maybe it's because... God Samuel... I stabbed him. My own brother. But.. I didn't know what else to do. I.. I really thought... I thought he was going to kill me." Sam looks to Dean's form, bows his head and covers his face in his hands. Samuel reaches out a hand, places it onto Sam's shoulder and squeezes in a subtle attempt at comfort. He can't imagine what it must have been like, what a horrible decision, a horrible act that Sam had to carry out against his own flesh and blood. He feels for the grandson he sees before him. Sam looks up to him then and Samuel feels a sense of relief when he can see the signs. The emotions. The eyes that face him brim with fresh tears. Of course Sam cares, why would he think any different? He wonders at his own stupidity, shocked at how he had just treated Sam, when it is painfully obvious that Sam has his own pain to deal with.

"It's okay Sam, listen, I know you would never intentionally hurt Dean. And lord knows he has not been himself. From what I know of the two of you there is no one else in the world who cares about each other like you and Dean do. I am sure you could not have avoided it, that it was the only option open to you at the time, so let's just forget it for now and get him off the floor okay? He is in bad shape. I am sure he will be able to see things more clearly and will be back to himself once he gets looked after and has a chance to get his strength back."

He looks at Sam and the older man can not suppress the shiver. He feels it start from the center of him, from the very depths of his body, and it rises up and moves outward into every part of him. The shiver cascades throughout him, caused by the eerie, no, make that the ultra creepy smile he watches form on his grandson's face. The smile, it just feels wrong, out of place, staged. Samuel is getting a very bad vibe from it. "Sounds good Samuel, we need to take care of him. Together. I just.. I want my brother back you know?"

Samuel feels like he is on some kind of freakish yo-yo. How can he get such a weird, creepazoid type of vibe off Sam one minute and the next be wooed by his gentle and caring nature? He begins to wonder if he is also starting to feel the effects of fatigue and stress himself. It's settled. The sooner the two men get Dean looked after the sooner all three of them can relax. Samuel can't remember the last time he slept and he can feel the pull of exhaustion eat away at him. "I know Sam, I know. It's okay. Alright, let's get him up." With that the two men carefully lift Dean's limp and unresponsive body from the ground to the mattress.

As he turns on the lamp beside the bed, Samuel finally has the chance to take a good look at the oldest of the brothers. He does not like what he sees. Dean looks like death warmed over. Pale. Bloody. A layer of sweat sticks his hair to his face and his clothes to his body. It is his face however that ultimately draws Samuel's attention. Dean's face, it is etched into a frown that his grandson can not seem to break out of, even in his current unconscious state. His brows are furrowed like he is stuck in limbo, trying to figure out a puzzle, a question, one that he can not seem to solve. Samuel's mind starts up again. What is it Dean? What is wrong? What is going on inside your head? Samuel's determination is back and he strengthens his resolve. Come hell or high water. He will find out the answers. All of them.

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**TBC...  
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	15. Chapter 15

**Hello everyone and thanks for tuning in for another chapter. I hope you enjoy. HAPPY NEW YEAR! 2011 is going to be fantabulous year! :)**

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He knows he should care. That he should feel something. Anything. But, the truth is, he doesn't. Not really. Sure, he wants Dean to recover but not out of some kind of brotherly bond, not because he feels guilt or shame for what had caused Dean to be here, in this state. No, he only wants Dean to find his way back to them so he can find out what he knows about the alpha vamp. Sam knows deep inside it isn't right, somewhere in the back of his mind he senses he should care about the man sprawled out on the bed. But he also knows, for whatever reason, he does not.

As he arrives back at the bed with the supplies and hands them over to Samuel, as he gazes upon Dean and sees that he looks like hell, he knows it. As he watches his grandfather begin to clean out the wound, the one which Sam himself caused, an itch squirms around in his head and tells him he should feel something. He watches Samuel tend to his brother's injuries with a gentle and soothing touch and memories from before his journey to the cage drift forward and he remembers. That he should be the one to soothe his brother's pain. That, in the past, he was always the one. To help him. To lend support and comfort. But not any more. Now it is forced. Because this time, his brother is merely a means to an end. Sam doesn't understand why but he can't dwell on it. It is what it is.

It hurts. Dean feels like his body is on fire, the pain throbs in a never ending torrent of agony throughout him. He pinpoints the source, it seems to emanate outwards from his side. It hurts and he tries to wriggle away from the pressure that is being thrust upon it. He wants to be left alone. He doesn't want to hurt anymore. He wants it to stop.

As his brother starts to move, starts to whimper under Samuel's touch, Sam can feel his grandfather's gaze drift to him. Sam places what he hopes is a touch of solace onto his brother's arm and keeps the contact in place as the older man continues to poke and prod and clean and suture the ugly gash on Dean's side. As he keeps a hand on Dean's arm Sam can't sense any emotions in his mind. He does not feel a sense of loyalty. Or a sense of concern, or brotherly love. No, he keeps the touch placed there out of pure necessity. If it helps bring Dean back from the brink he will continue to perform the act, the touch. He realizes the sooner the injured man is up to his usual pain in his ass self, the sooner Sam can find out what his older brother saw. What knowledge he gained from being in the heart of the nest. Knowledge that can only come from being amongst them, being one of them. Knowledge that can help lead him to the alpha. That alone is what drives him to act. Information. For the hunt to come.

Dean feels the touch. It seems familiar. Warm. It is there. He feels it, an attempt to soothe him, to ease his pain, and for a moment Dean relaxes into it. Sammy. Thank God. Sammy is here. That one thought helps to reduce the rivers of pain that flow steadily through his bloodstream. There is comfort and love in the sensation he feels and Dean thinks everything will be okay. He will be alright, and soon the pain that flares within him will come to an end. He concentrates. It grounds him. It strengthens his resolve to endure it, to ride it out, to stand defiant against the onslaught of agony. And it seems to work, the pain lessens by a degree or two, the knife that pierced sharply through his side moments ago starts to subside into a dull, manageable throb. Dean lets out a sigh. He feels his body relax, the body he didn't even realize was as tense and taut as a guitar string ready to blow.

But then, just like that, without warning, the warmth of that touch diminishes. Sam's touch. Is gone. It has disappeared. All he feels now is coldness where moments ago warmth had been. It freezes him, sends shivers up and down his spine and then he wonders, maybe the touch he craves, that he longs to return was never really there. The thought makes Dean squirm and he starts to breathe at an ever increasing pace. He aches for the touch. Please, come back. Don't leave me here alone Sam. I need you. Need to know you are there.

As Samuel finishes his work and Dean relaxes slightly into the mattress, the younger grandson lets go of his hold on Dean. Sam hears his grandfather mutter words of comfort and encouragement to the man on the bed as Dean starts to fidget, as his lips begin to move, as his breath becomes rapid and his movements become more erratic. Shit. Sam feels his agitation and frustration rise as his eyes focus on Dean. As he takes in the sight of his brother, the one who holds the key to the alpha, as he realizes he will have to wait for the answers he seeks. He will be forced to wait because Dean now sports the signs of someone who has started to battle, to fight against the effects of a fever that rages within. As the mutters and incoherent words continue to tumble freely from his mouth, Sam is pretty sure that Dean now heads towards a state of total delirium as well. Great.

Vamps. Everywhere. They want to kill him. No. That's not it. It's worse than that. They want. They want to turn him. Well they are not going to get Dean Winchester without a fight. C'mon you bastards, take your best shot. They advance on him and he swings his blade right, then left. He chuckles as the decapitated body falls with a loud thud on the ground, as the head rolls along the floor. All it takes is a carefully placed slice across the throat and then, voila, one less vamp in the world. They come at him from all sides, teeth extended, the hisses that scream aloud in his ears threaten to deafen him, to disarm him from his purpose. As the barrage continues Dean senses this is a battle he can not win. He can not continue to defend himself. There are just too many bloodsuckers and not enough of him. He starts to wield his blade wildly, in a desperate attempt to sway the odds that are definitely not in his favour. Because what does he see? 20 vamps? Against one Winchester? He knows he is good but damn, even he has his limits. Just keep swinging Dean. Just keep swinging. Take out as many of these bastards as you can.

Sam is caught by surprise as Dean's arms flail out in a sudden burst of motion and he narrowly escapes a fist to the chin. He feels his anger ramp up so he grabs the offending appendages, forces them down and pins them to Dean's side. Sam sees the other man's eyes flutter slightly and try to focus on something. No, not on something. On someone. On him.

They have him now. They hold him down to the ground and encircle his body. But, as he gazes out into the sea of indistinct faces there is one that he can make out the features of. Sam. Thank God, Sammy is here, he will save the day. He will save me. "S'my, you okay? I..." Dean feels something on his mouth and is assaulted by the sickening taste of copper on his tongue. The appendages that have held him to that spot, that had held him still, fade away and he raises a shaky hand to wipe across his face. As he looks at his hand he feels nothing but complete horror. No. "What...blood...no... can't...need to fight..." Dean looks to his brother in desperation, he can not figure out why Sam hasn't made his move yet, why he hasn't come to his aid. "don't... don't let em get me... gotta get away... Sam? you okay?"

Dean's eyes open a fraction more and seem to scan the room, as if to figure out where he is. As they land on Sam's face the younger brother sees him smile. "Oh..good...S'my...okay...good...safe...s'my...c'mon sam, need... help me..." Sam can feel his grandfather's stare again, as if he waits to see what his youngest grandson will do. Sam meets his brother's gaze, gives him a small smirk and utters words of consolation. "I'm here bro, just relax, you are safe now. Get some rest." Sam surmises quickly that for some reason that small smile and those gentle words were a very bad idea.

That smirk. Damn it. Why didn't he see it before? It gives his brother away. Dean feels as though he has been slapped violently across the face, forced to wake up and smell the shit that swirls around him. The shit storm that he now finds himself in. Sam is not there to help him. He is there to help them. The vamps. Sam. He let it happen. On purpose. Dean's heart heaves, his limbs turn to jelly and he moans in despair and ultimate betrayal.

Dean's eyes open wide and full, clouded over with pain and confusion and he doubles his efforts to fight the arms that restrain him. Sam feels a jolt of annoyance as well as pain when one of Dean's legs finds him and gives him a good kick. "SON OF A BITCH! WHERE IS SAM? WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM? GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME! DON'T TOUCH ME!"

Dean struggles with everything he has. His face twists back and forth, his eyes close and he seems to pulse with pure adrenaline in his effort to get away. He can not die like this, he can not let himself be turned into a monster. What did they do to Sam? He brain floods with thought after thought, image after image, of Sam. Of blood. Of thirst. Of horror and shame and unequalled pain.

Sam looks to his grandfather and can see the question mark in his stare. Sam shrugs his shoulders and watches as Samuel leans forward, touches his brother's face and turns it towards his own. "Dean, Sam is right here, he is fine. Sam is right beside you son. You need to calm down, you are going to tear open your stitches."

Samuel? Dean is confused. When did Samuel get here? He hears the calmness and strength in the older man's voice and wonders if maybe his grandfather is right. Maybe Sam is okay, maybe it is him who is not okay. Maybe he is having some kind of weird episode that has clouded over his brain, that has taken away his rational thought. He sighs and lets his body ease up and leans back in an effort to clear the encroaching cobwebs that flutter around in his head.

The other two men watch as Dean's face flashes in a state of confusion and then starts to relax a bit, to the point where he sinks back into the pillow and stops his movements. Sam releases the grip he holds on his brother and lets out a exasperated sigh.

No, something is wrong. This whole damn thing is wrong. Sam is not fine. This is not the Sammy he knows. He has changed and the hell if Dean is going to just lay down and take it. Not without at least trying to stop something so very bad and so very, very wrong. He has to warn Samuel. Before it is too late. Before Sam does the same thing to his grandfather. Before he turns him into a monster, just like he had done to his own brother.

In a flash of speed that neither of the other two men had expected, Dean's arm flies out and grabs Samuel's shirt by the collar. He uses the leverage to pull himself up and, although Dean tries to be stealthy and quiet, Sam can still hear. "Samuel...listen to me...that..is not Sam...that...is not Sam. he...he...watched...while...he...but...why...Sam...never...would. S'my...never... I know... I saw... I saw..." His energy sapped, Dean collapses back onto the bed but continues to play the same tune. "Not S'my... he let... turned... watched.. let happen... didn't stop...could have. why.. not right... not S'my..."

"Dean, just close your eyes and rest. Don't think, just sleep. You need to sleep and recover. Please just settle your breath and calm your mind. You are safe, you are out of danger. Nothing is going to hurt you son. I promise." Sam hears his grandfather's words and hopes they will do the trick. He starts to feel self conscious. That the more that the words fly out of Dean's mouth, the more likely it is that Samuel will starts to ask questions.

The older Winchester does not listen. At all. He continues to fight, to struggle against the words, against the feel of Samuel's hands on him as they hold him in place and prevent him from getting up. As if another round of adrenaline has been injected into him, Dean's movements actually increase, his will to make Samuel understand is all that his tormented mind can focus on. Samuel begs him to stop, tells him he is going to hurt himself, tells him there is nothing to fear but none of his assurances reach the ears of the other man. "NO! let me go... gotta get out... can't be here... I'm okay.. just... lemme... go! please!" Pause. "you need to get outta here... you are in danger..." Dean is in constant motion, the fight or flight response oozes out of him in torrents.

Samuel looks to his younger grandson and whispers to him. "My bag Sam." Sam gathers up the bag and hands it to his grandfather. He holds onto Dean as Samuel rifles through the duffel, pulls out a vial and a syringe, fills the needle with the fluid and taps it. "Okay, you need to keep him still. I'll..."

"NO! don't! please... I... please... don't wanna sleep... I'm okay... just let me go... I'm fine..." As Samuel faces Dean, sees genuine and unabashed fear and terror cloud over the features of his face, he feels the sting of tears as they start to form in his eyes. Dean tries to scramble, lean to the side, do anything to get away from the syringe. But, Samuel knows what he has to do. Dean is in the throws of a major episode and if he doesn't calm his grandson down he is going to do some major damage to his already frail body. He hates to do it but it is the only way. He doesn't have a choice.

Dean fights. And screams. And pleads for all he is worth. He does not want to be sucked into darkness. He needs to stay alert, to make Samuel understand. To try and save him. Warn him about the stranger in their midst. He tries desperately to escape, to flee, to convince his grandfather that he is in danger. That it is not Sam.

"Whoa, relax bro. I'm here Dean, and I am not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you, you know that. We are brothers Dean. I am still Sammy and I am not going to leave you. You need to calm down. You need to rest. You are not thinking clearly. You'll see, everything will be better.."

"Lying... BASTARD! You! You... did this to me. You watched it... god damn it! you... smiled!"

Sam is amazed. Utterly amazed and perhaps even a bit astonished at the amount of strength Dean still possesses after everything he has endured. He bucks, he twists, he screams, he flails and kicks, and all the while he continues a continuous barrage of curses aimed solely at Sam.

Samuel waits patiently for a chance to get the needle into Dean's arm. To help relieve him of the obvious delirium he is enthralled with and looks towards his younger grandson once again. "Sam, you need to steady him."

Dean feels pressure on his chest, on his limbs. As hard as he tries he can not stop the restriction placed on him. He looks towards the obstacle and sees that Sam has actually straddled him, that he is using his entire body to subdue him. He throws daggers into the eyes that look into his and seems to of forgotten everything else about the situation except the son of a bitch that currently invades his coveted personal space. Until he feels the sting. Of the needle. Until he feels the rush of the drug as it surges through his arm, into his side, into his legs, into his chest and into his head. The pressure is released and he feels a weird kind of numbness infiltrate his senses. He feels afloat. He can't move. He can't struggle. But then again, he can't remember why he was. He tries to keep his eyes open but feels the ever increasing pull of sleep call out to him. It reaches into his head, into his thoughts and he can't focus. The last vision he sees before he succumbs to the drug that flows through him is Sam. Right. Sam. Not Dean's brother. Not anymore. And the last word he manages to squeak out in a voice that seems slow and slurred is "Why?"

Sam watches his brother's eyes close and sees his grandfather wipe a weary hand across his own tired face. Samuel gets up, walks away from the bed and heads over to the table to sit down. Sam stares at Dean's form a moment more and rises from the bed, his eyes follow the path his grandfather just took. Then he sees it. Samuel. The stare that reaches over to him from across the room, the stare that the younger man can not read.

"Sam, it's time. Time you and I had a little chat. Now."

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**TBC... Reviews are lovely to receive... Just a little hint from me to you... ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Hello All ! Sorry for the delay in this story, I ran into a bit of a road block. Hopefully it has been cleared and I can continue on without further interruptions. Thank you to all out there who are giving this story a chance and to those who have been with me throughout this journey. It really is wonderful to read about what others think so if you feel so inclined please take a moment to send me your thoughts. Thanks again and I hope you will enjoy! :)**

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Samuel watches his youngest grandson. Intently. He keeps his eyes on Sam as he makes his way over, a look of curiosity apparent across his face. It is obvious that the younger man does not know what he wants to talk to him about. And, the older man isn't sure either. As Sam sits in the chair opposite from him, Samuel starts to feel nervous. His gut churns and his palms start to sweat. He scolds himself for getting so worked up. How can he possibly be nervous? Around the man he has been hunting all over creation with for the past year? It is his flesh and blood that looks at him from across the table. But that's the thing. Sometimes, like tonight, Samuel also feels like Sam is a complete stranger.

But, it's probably nothing. Just the effects of a tired and weary mind making an issue when there really isn't one. After all, Dean has been ravaged by pain and poison and fever and has had one hell of a ride. He is out of it, doesn't know where he is so, to assume he doesn't know what he is saying either shouldn't be to hard to believe. So why is it he still feels the need to question his younger grandson? In his heart he knows why. He needs to ask because something is just off about Sam. Like he is hiding something. Like the whole thing about the cure. Samuel is sure, absolutely, that Sam knew about it but that he never let his brother in on it. And that is just weird. And the way that Sam constantly goes on the defensive? Well that, at least in Samuel's experience, is a sign of someone who has a secret that they intend to protect.

"Earth to Samuel? I'm here. As ordered. So what is it exactly that you need to discuss? That can't wait, that needs to be addressed right this minute?"

Samuel lets out a deep sigh of frustration and pent up stress. He calms his nerves and tells himself that there is no need to worry. He reminds himself that there is no time like the present to get the answer to the question that has floated around in his mind for hours and hours now. "Look Sam, I'm beat. I'm exhausted and not in the mood for any more head games. So, I'll just come out with it and let the chips fall where they may okay?." Pause. A nod of Sam's head prompts him to continue. After a deep breath, the question that has been forefront in his mind during most of this electrically charged night just pops right out. "Right to the point then. Did you watch? Did you just stand there? When Dean was turned? Did you let it happen?"

And there it is. That's all it took. It is now out in the open for all to see. Samuel feels relieved that he has finally popped the question. Now he'll just wait for Sam to get pissed off, to spew some expletives in his direction and then they can get over it and get on with things. But, as he stares into Sam's eyes, he can see the hesitation within them. Like his grandson is trying to figure out what the best answer would be. The more he waits, the longer he listens for some kind of a reply, the more he can see the doubt flutter in Sam's gaze. And with the continued silence he realizes. Shit. He knows the answer. And he doesn't like it. And he finds it hard to believe. Sam doesn't need to say a word. The answer. Damn it. It is the one that he had hoped he would never have to face.

"Thank you Sam, that's all I need to know."

"I didn't say anything Samuel."

There's that voice again. Devoid of emotions, devoid of anything other than a logical response to a totally illogical and completely out of line question. "Exactly Sam. And by not saying anything you have just told me everything." Sam holds out a hand to his grandson in an attempt to stop him from formulating a response. He doesn't want to hear it. Not yet. "If you did NOT let him, your own brother, get turned, you would be busy right now, calling me every name in the book. You would be yelling and swearing until you were red in the face. You would be in total disbelief. You would be shocked at the nerve, the audacity of me. Of what I have just accused you of. At the very least you would have taken a swing at me just to make yourself feel better!"

The older man sees his grandson start to fidget and squirm on his chair. "But, you haven't done a damn thing! You just sit there, without one single emotion displayed on your face. So, Sam, please enlighten me. Why in the hell would you allow this to happen? Could you have prevented it? Did you even try to save Dean from all of this shit?"

The two men lock eyes with one another and now it is Samuel's turn to squirm. A familiar feeling surges up within him again. Nervousness. Like now that the truth has been exposed, he is unsure of what his grandson will do. What he is capable of. He feels oddly vulnerable so Samuel rises to his feet and feels himself swallow as he watches Sam do the same.

"Alright Samuel, you caught me. Good for you. Huh, I guess the gig is up. Actually, I should thank you. Whew, it's quite a relief you know. At least I don't have to pretend anymore. I don't have to gauge and monitor every single word that exits my mouth, worried that it might be offensive or just plain wrong. No more having to tiptoe around you. Or Dean. To keep up my cover.

"So yes, Samuel. The answer to your question is yes. I did let Dean get turned. There. I said it. And boy, it feels kinda good to get that out there. Happy now Samuel? Is this what you wanted to hear? Yeah, I watched. I watched that vamp smear his blood into Dean's mouth. Hell, I even smiled. I mean, it couldn't have worked out any better if I had planned it myself. Sure, it's true, I could have saved him. There was time. But this was the perfect chance, it just appeared, it was too good a chance to let go by. The perfect opportunity! Don't you get it Samuel? Can't you see? We needed a way in. To the nest. To the alpha. And Dean? Well, I chalk that up to fate. All of it. Dean, the vamp, all of it. What I saw? It was our ticket in. What better way to get information on the vampire alpha than by having someone on the inside?" Pause. "Plus, I knew he would be okay, somehow he always is."

"But he is your brother Sam! You do not put family into that kind of danger on purpose! What if he would have fed? You saw how close he came, how the need for blood was so strong. Hell Sam, he almost fed on YOU! Would you have been able to kill your own brother? The person that YOU were responsible for? How could you have lived with yourself with that on your conscience? What the hell is wrong with you? What were you thinking?" Samuel feels lightheaded. He looks at Sam again and can't even tell if anything he has just said to him has registered.

"C'mon Samuel, relax man, just chill out. Look, he's okay, he'll survive. But, I guess if things had worked out differently, we would of just had to chalk it up to collateral damage. I mean, I guess it would have been a shame to lose an experienced hunter but, whatever." Samuel can not believe, can not fathom the words that are being spit out of Sam's mouth. He is pretty sure that his chin has just hit the floor. Collateral damage? The older man just wants to wind up and clock Sam square in the mouth, out of pure anger but also out of something else. He just wants him to stop. He does not want to stand here and listen to one more word uttered from him. Samuel finds himself in an odd position. Sure, he finally has his answer, right from the horse's mouth no less, but now he wants nothing more than for that horse to shut its yap. He wanted to know and now he wishes he didn't.

It seems the floodgates have been opened however and now that he has started, now that the cat is out of the bag, Sam does not show any desire to end it. It's like a weight has been lifted and the vileness just continues to roll in waves off his tongue. And Samuel feels helpless to stop the onslaught. "Huh. Hell. Funny you should mention that. Dean? He used to be strong you know? Vital, alive, full of piss and vinegar and the mentality of a man on a mission. He had a one track mind. He wanted to go out and find every evil piece of shit he could and wipe it off the face of the planet. But now? I mean, c'mon Samuel, just look at him. Ever since he got back from Hell he is pathetic. And weak. And worthless. He's okay in a fight, I'll grant you that, but the thing he seems to be really good at, especially in light of today's events? One word. Bait."

"SAM! Stop it right now! That is enough! Bait? Really? You can not mean that! This is your brother we are talking about, not some piece of crap asshole! Do you even hear yourself? What you are saying? It's like, I don't know, like you are someone completely different!"

"Well I sure hope so gramps! God, I used to be just like him. Wimpy. Worried about others all the time. Completely and utterly flawed. But just look at me now! Stronger than ever. With purpose. No baggage to slow me down. Well, except for Dean. He really is a needy, whiny son of a bitch. Me? I am now the ultimate hunting machine. Superior in every single way. I don't feel. I don't hurt. I don't care about anything other than getting the prize. Nothing will get in my way. Dean? Well, he came back as a loser. But me Samuel? Well, I came back from Hell new and improved. No more guilt. No more compassion. The perfect killer.

"So Samuel, tell me, how do you take someone like Dean? Someone so damaged, someone no longer worth the effort, a sorry excuse for a man and turn him back into a killer? Hmmm? No guesses? That's okay, I will enlighten you. You put him into a fight. A fight that he has to win. Where he either fights or he dies. And Dean over there? I figured he would step up to the plate but even I am surprised at what happened. You saw it right Samuel? He killed them! Killed that entire nest by himself! So really man, you and Dean, you should both be thanking me! You should thank me for restoring his killer instinct and returning him to the hunt. And he should thank me, for reminding him of what his true purpose in life is, the only thing he has ever been good at. Remind him what is truly important. The necessity to kill. To kill each and every evil son of a bitch that roams the earth. That is what matters!"

Samuel feels like he has been punched. Hard. In the stomach. He feels winded and shocked and unclear about everything. This man, this foul-mouthed, horrible man, or this thing, that stands before him. God, he is actually proud of what he has done. The twisted smile on his face tells the older man that. Samuel cringes, he feels sick and dirty and lets his gaze drift to his other grandson, still motionless on the bed. Dean knows. Dean saw. What his brother did. What he didn't do. What Sam let happen to him. It all makes perfect sense now. The uncontrollable fear, the need to crawl, to inch himself away from Sam. The whispers, the warnings that he made to Samuel not so long ago. This, this man is not Sam. This, this man. Is something else. Something wicked. Something without care or feelings. Without remorse or a sense of ownership of his own deeds. Sam. Dean's brother. Is gone. Replaced by this imposter. By this monster.

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**TBC... I sense the end is near... du du dummmmm :) Thanks for reading!**


	17. Chapter 17

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**Okay everyone, here is another chapter. I have started and stopped this chapter probably at least ten times. It has been sucking the life out of me to get this story to it's conclusion. There will be one more chapter after this one and hopefully it will have an ending that none of you will expect (but I know some of you will). Thanks for hanging with me and I hope that you will enjoy. :)**

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Silence. Each man stands there, both trying to absorb what just happened. Sam for one feels relieved. It's out. His big secret, the one he has had to tread so carefully around to protect. But no more. He has laid it all out and it feels great. At least now he, Samuel, and Dean can get back to the hunt. Back to the business at hand. But, when he glances at Samuel, the younger man gets the feeling, the bad vibe that his grandfather does not share his enthusiasm of his coming out. Damn it. Samuel looks pissed off. Sam sighs in frustration. They just don't get it, and this, right here, is exactly what he was talking about. Emotions and feelings. They do nothing but get in the way. They are useless, a hindrance to the task at hand. Shit. Sam's good mood is now clouded as he continues to take the brunt of Samuel's gaze. The old man's eyes bore into him with what he thinks is a look of hatred, disgust and uncertainty. Of him. Of his motives. Of what Samuel now knows he is capable of. Maybe he should have kept is mouth shut after all.

Samuel starts to move his position. Sam scoffs as he realizes what the other man is up to. He has placed himself between Sam and the occupant on the bed. "C'mon Samuel, you don't need to worry. I am not going to hurt Dean. He doesn't need your protection. We have been together for a while again now and I am not going to do anything to him. Trust me." Huh, now it appears it is Samuel's turn to scoff. He doesn't speak but Sam knows what he is thinking. How can he trust him after what he has just learned. Yeah, this could be a tough sell. As Sam begins to approach his grandfather, his hands raised in an It's okay, I'm not going to do anything posture, his eyes drift to the bed and the man who lays there. Dean. Sam can see him start to move. The movements start out small and the mutterings that leave his mouth are not anything that he can understand. Sam observes his grandfather reach out to put a hand on Dean's forearm, all the while keeping his eyeballs firmly in place and on Sam, not taking them off of him for an instant.

Before he can try again to smooth over the current situation, the tension which he himself has caused, Dean's voice takes over the silence that has regained control of the room. His words become louder and clearer and both men are drawn to those words that tumble from his mouth.

"S'my? Why? can't be! Lisa... Ben.. so, so sorry, forgive me please. don't hate me. can't. everyone hates me. Sam. Sammy, he hates me. I should go. can't take it. too much. don't wanna fight any more. tired. so tired. sam. gone. forever. Hell. dead. hurt. it hurts so much. please."

Sam looks up from the bed to Samuel once again and sees something he can not recall being witness to in the past year that they have hunted together. His eyes, they are brimming with unshed tears. Samuel looks to his younger grandson and speaks to him through clenched teeth, as if he is trying to hold back utter and complete rage. "You Sam. You. YOU did this to him. But, more than that. Worse than that. You have willingly put him here. Just look at him! He is broken. In pain. And why? Because of YOU!" Sam hears a snicker escape from his grandfather's lips. "But, I know, I shouldn't waste my breath because you just told me, right over there at that table, that you couldn't care less! That you don't give a shit about him, about what happens to him. You would not of batted an eyelash if he turned completely and we had to kill him! God! You! YOU DID THIS!"

Sam sees his brother flinch at the end punctuation of Samuel's rant and the movements and words increase in their intensity. Samuel takes his accusing eyes away from him and as he turns to his brother instead, Sam can see those eyes change to one of concern and sympathy. His brother, Dean, now begins to thrash around violently on the bed. His eyes are open and they seem to look beyond both of the other men to focus on a point in the corner of the room.

"Sam! Sammy!" Thrash. "No! Don't jump! Please! We'll find another way!" Thrash. Thrash. "Don't go! Don't leave me here alone! I need you!" Thrash. "I can't! I can't do this without you!" Thrash. "PLEASE!"

"Dean. Listen son. Sam is fine. Don't worry. Everything is okay. Just go back to sleep. Please." The moment the words are out of Samuel's mouth, Sam doesn't know why but he approaches the bed quickly and grabs hold of Dean's hand.

"Dean. It's Sammy. I'm here. I came back remember? I am safe. And so are you. You just need to get better so we can head back out on the road and kick some ass. You've had a rough go of it but you'll get through it, like you always do. I am always here for you bro, no matter what. We are in this together and that will never change. Please Dean, just relax and calm down. I'll be here when you wake up." Sam is confused. The words, they seemed to flow so naturally out of him. But, where did those words come from? He can see Samuel out of the corner of his eye, examining him. Wondering if this is all just a ploy.

The younger brother sees Dean's gaze drift towards him and look him in the eye. "S'm? Thank God. Thought I lost you man... don't leave... never... please."

"I'm not going anywhere Dean. Just get some rest." With that, Dean's features soften, a small smile appears on his lips and his eyes close.

Sam remains where he is, keeps his hand over his brother's and sighs deeply. What is going on? He was so sure of all the things he just said to Samuel. That Dean is a means to an end. An opportunity to learn things that would otherwise be lost to him. But this? What just went on here, it's confusing as hell and now Sam feels totally unsure of what brought them to this moment. Does he care? Or doesn't he?

Sam stands up from the bed and turns to face his grandfather's questioning gaze. Samuel must be able to read the confusion that floats across his face because he actually takes a step towards his grandson and places a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Sam, what is going on?"

"Good question. I just. I don't know. Please Samuel, you have to believe me. I am still me, still Sam, but something has changed. Something inside is different. I'm. I know. I shouldn't have done this. I know that. But. It's just, at the time, it seemed like the right thing to do. It wasn't my brother that was there, it was just someone that could get the information that we needed. I don't know what is wrong with me. I need to find out and I don't think I can without Dean's help. It's weird you know, I get flashes of the old me, the person I was before I dove into that pit. I want to get back to that but, I don't know how! I need help to figure it out. I. I'm..."

"Okay Sam, alright. Look. You really pissed me off and freaked me out with what you told me and I won't lie to you. I am worried for Dean. There is something not right with you Sam and it's like you can't control some kind of darkness that seems to be within you. So, you have to tell your brother what you just told me. He has a right to know and when he is up and about again, he will remember exactly what you did. You need to bring it up, you need to tell him. He needs to know. And Sam, I am going to tell him something too. He needs to watch his back around you. At least until you figure out what the hell has happened to the Sam he used to know. The Sam who is his brother."

The two men head back over to the table to talk some more. As an hour goes by, then another, they begin to feel as though there is a real chance to fix this. That together the Winchester sons will figure it out, find the answer to Sam's sudden change. And, in the process maybe they can begin to heal their broken relationship.

Because they are so involved in their conversation, neither Sam or Samuel notice when Dean wakes. And because they do not notice him, they also do not see the look that is displayed upon his face. There is only one word that can describe that look. Payback.

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**TBC... Thanks for reading. One more chapter to go! :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Hello and welcome to the final chapter of this story. Thanks to all that have stuck with it. It has turned out entirely different than what I had originally planned. Funny how that works some times. Anywho, I hope you enjoy! Take care and thanks again for reading! :)**

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Dean rises off the bed in some kind of stealth mode and he feels like a ninja when he doesn't make a sound. He wobbles a bit when a bout of dizziness takes hold and as he feels the burn in his side, he looks to the source of his discomfort. Huh. Bandaged and stitched. Right. Sam. He stabbed him. And Samuel. He patched him up. Dean feels like he hasn't slept for days, like he hasn't eaten for weeks and he feels kinda disconnected from his body. But, there is one thought, one thing that he is absolutely clear on. This version of Sam. It is not his brother. He put him here, in this place. And now, all Dean wants to do is hurt him back. And good.

His eyes drift to the scene at the other end of the room. Two men. Two Samuels. They sit there, engaged in what seems to be a friendly conversation. He can see Samuel's face and he looks quite content. Looks like he is really enjoying the talk he is having with whatever it is that sits across from him. And he can see the back of the other man's head. Watches as he runs his hand through his hair. Well, it is so nice to see that those two don't seem to have a care in the world. They haven't suffered. They didn't turn into a blood thirsty monster, hell, they probably enjoyed every minute of it. Probably planned the whole sordid thing from the beginning. Dean chides himself for being so incredibly stupid. For letting his need of family overshadow everything else, allowing it to turn him into some naive idiot. Well, those days are officially over and it's time to dish out some payback. Have someone else hurt for a change.

Dean scans the area and sets his eyes on the weapons. His focus veers towards a blade...and a gun. Hmm... the gun would be a little loud but the blade? Well, Dean wonders how Sam will feel when it is his turn to be on the receiving end of a brother who just doesn't give a shit.

His life, it is so screwed up. He has lost Lisa. Lost Ben. Lost his brother. What else does he have to lose? He stalks over to the goods, amazed at how unbelievable it is. That those two men are so consumed in their talk, probably about him and what to do with him now, that they don't even seem to notice his existence. Well, whatever, Dean should be used to being invisible by now. No one cares about him, no one cares what happens to him or how his heart feels like it has been ripped out and spat on. May as well go out with a bang.

So, he grabs both implements, one in each unsteady and slightly shaky hand, and makes his way slowly over. Samuel finally seems to notice his approach and nods to the man across the table. Both Samuel and Sam rise from their chairs to face Dean.

"Dean? What are you doing with those son? You need to rest, you need to go and lay down."

He hopes the emotion he sees flash across his grandfather's face is fear, after all, that is what he is going for. "Huh, that's a good one Samuel. No need to worry about me, I'm fine. I was just wondering what you two dicks were talking about? Maybe about what you should do to me next? What kinda screwed up experiment you can conduct on me for kicks?

"Samuel, I thought. Well, you seemed like you actually cared. I thought you were helping me but I shoulda known. That you and Sam here were working together to royally screw me. Story of my life right? Dumb, stupid, idiotic Dean Winchester, always there when the family needs him, no questions asked. Always there to lay the blame on or maybe, let's see...oh yeah. Always there to get turned into a vampire to get some answers. RIGHT? ISN'T THAT RIGHT? SAM!"

Dean is winded. His strength is already starting to wane and he is forced to place a hand on the wall for support, to prevent himself from crashing to the floor right then and there. He glares at the two men as they look to each other. Huh, they are probably trying to come up with another lie to tell him. Dean raises the gun up and points it directly at his brother. "So Sam? Can you give me one reason why I shouldn't just shoot you where you stand? Wait, I know, maybe just a wound to the shoulder, wouldn't want to kill you right away. I mean that's the name of the game right? Hurt 'em, let 'em suffer and then see whether they make it or not? Do I have the rules right?"

Dean sees Samuel raise his hands, as he tries to make him believe he is not a threat. Yeah, right. "Dean, please, put the gun down. I know you don't really want to shoot anyone. You are hurt and upset and confused and not well. Yes, Sam and I have been talking but there are things you need to know. Don't do something you will regret."

Dean scoffs at that. "Right. Well, that ain't gonna happen. And yeah, you bet your ass I am not well! In case you have forgotten, while you were busy trying to plot your next 'let's screw with Dean event', let me give you the coles notes version." Dean turns to stare directly at his brother. "I was attacked, turned into a vamp, poisoned, stabbed and you know the worst part? It all happened at the hands of my OWN BROTHER!" He stops to calm his nerves and take a breath. "So, no, sorry Samuel but the gun is not going anywhere." Shit. Sweat starts to pour down Dean's face, his vision starts to get a bit wonky and he feels his breath rapidly increase from the mere effort it takes to keep his body upright. Okay, so maybe he shouldn't be spouting all kinds of threats, maybe he should have gathered up some more oompf, some more strength, some more gusto before starting a big confrontation. Huh. Oh well, can't turn back now.

Sam takes a step towards him and Dean glares at him. Complete with daggers. "Dean. Bro. Listen. There is something wrong with me. Ever since I got back, I am different. I don't know but I am just so damn good at the hunt now. It's like I don't feel anymore you know? I don't get scared, or nervous, or..."

"...or give a SHIT about anything or anyone but yourself? And those stupid alphas? Does that about sum it up? Right? Nothing else matters to you, least of all me." Damn it. Dean moves his body so it totally leans on the wall now. He still holds the gun in the direction of Sam but can't seem to focus. His eyes drift in and out of faze, two men, then four, then back to two. He tries to avoid it but the gun slowly lowers as his arm loses its fight to keep it level. "Well, I guess you have your chance now Sam. To get your big brother, the big pain in your ass out of the way. Just do it already. I'm done, finished, given it all and have gotten nothing in return, so what have I got to lose? You have already destroyed everything in my life that is worth anything so just finish the job. Put me out of my misery and then you two can go out and save the world." His body slides down the length of the wall and he just sits there, in emotional and physical overload, unable to move. His gaze lifts up and he finds the face of his grandfather look towards him. "Samuel, just watch your back okay? One day he will turn on you too."

"It's not like that Dean. Yeah, Sam is not right but he is still Sam. The cage, well, it changed him. Just like Hell changed you. He needs your help. To find out how to fix things, how to bring the Sam you know back. He knows he screwed up but he wants to change, get back to how he was. To the way the two of you were."

"Bravo Samuel, that sure sounds great, what a wonderful little speech. Did you rehearse that? I guess Sam has lost the ability to talk huh? I mean, really, shouldn't he be the one to lay out all this bullshit on me? He is a master of deception after all. Had me fooled. Tell ya what, I think I'm just gonna stay right here, probably pass out, and when I wake up maybe you two assholes will be gone. Yeah, that sounds good. You can go back to your life and I can try and make one for myself."

"Please Dean. It's true I.." Pause. "I let you get turned. I don't really know why. I was so consumed about getting answers, to get to the alpha, that I didn't even consider the consequences. I didn't think about what it would do to you because I never believed that you wouldn't be okay. You always come out on top. You never lose." Pause. "I need your help Dean. I remember how things used to be between us and I want to be like that again. I want to care, I want to feel, I want to be close again but right now.. I just don't feel anything."

"Ah, poor little Sammy. He doesn't feel anything. Doesn't care about anything. Doesn't know what kind of damage he has caused, what kind of damage he is capable of. Poor thing. Wants his big brother to help him, to bail him out. Well, it all sounds fun and like a really great time but there is just one little problem. You see Sam, I do not trust or believe one word that you spit out of that mouth of yours. So, just leave me alone and get out of my life." Pause. Dean feels his eyes start to tear, but one thought about the smirk on Sam's face as he faced that damn vampire and it seems to dry them in an instant.

"If you find out the answer to why you have turned into such a dick, I really do hope you can fix whatever it is. Not for you, not for me, but for the rest of the world's sake. You are dangerous Sam and it hurts to be around you." Pause. "If you manage to fix it, to get back to the old Sam then that's awesome but don't try and find me. Don't seek me out. I need some time. This whole thing has changed how I feel about you. And believe me Sam, I never thought that would happen. Ever. My Sammy, back from the pit of Hell itself. But you? You aren't my Sammy. So, just..."

Dean feels his eyes well up with tears once again, and his vision clouds over from grief and rage and pain and exhaustion. He can not live like this anymore. He would have been better off if his brother just stayed in the pit. "...just leave me alone and go live your life. Without me."

The gun and the blade clatter to the floor. Dean's eyes gaze towards Samuel and then back to Sam. "Please, I'm just tired. I don't wanna do this anymore." He closes his eyes.

There is a brief pause. Silence.

"Yeah, okay Dean, I understand. I will keep Bobby in the loop with what is going on with me, just in case you change your mind. I'm sorry Dean. For everything."

"But Sam, we can not leave him here, not like this."

"It'll be worse if we stay. He needs some time. We have to give that to him."

Dean pretends he is out as he hears his brother's words. If he looks up into those eyes then he might cave and he can't, not this time. His ears are tuned into the movements around the room. He feels a blanket placed on him, feels hands on him, checking his wounds and then a sigh as it escapes from his grandfather's lips. "Okay, he seems alright Sam. Out of danger. Are you sure about this?" Pause. "Okay then." Dean hears the scrape of the gun and blade as they are lifted off the floor and within a few minutes he hears the distinct sound of the door as it closes.

He remains there, eyes closed, and waits another moment before he slowly opens them. After they take their sweet time to adjust to the dim light within the room, he scans the area and sees that he is indeed alone. And it hits him like a bolt of lightning. Alone. Without Sam.

He hopes that somehow his brother will come back to him in the end. And he knows he will keep track of him. As always. Keep watch over him from a distance. But he also knows this is the best thing right now. He can not trust him. He can not travel with him. He does not know him. Not anymore. And the realization of everything that has happened comes crashing down around him.

And then, Dean Winchester, from his position on the floor, relents to his inner turmoil, gives in to his emotions and sobs. Uncontrollably. And the sounds of his pain, his sorrow, and his loss reverberate throughout the empty room.

* * *

**The End.**


End file.
